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Purchased by the Hamill Missionary Fund.

BV 3280 .T4 C46 1914
Clough, J. E. 1836-1910.
Social Christianity in the
Orient

SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY
IN THE ORIENT

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THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO
DALLAS • ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO

MACMILLAN & CO.. Limited

LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd.

TORONTO

JOHN E. CLOUGH (1891)

"/ arrived in Boston. . . . The papers talked of me as a venerable
old man, yet I zvas only Hfty-iive years of age, grown prematurely old through
the burdens I had carried. . . . The house was packed. ... 7 told
them in simple zvords how the Telugu Mission had grown. . . . They granted
everything for which I asked. . . . One year later tzventy-Uve men were
ready to go. . . . Fifty thousand dollars were given twice over. . . .
Jesus was bringing the uttermost parts of the earth together in spiritual con-
tact. . . ."

SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY
IN THE ORIENT

THE STORY OF A MAN, A MISSION
AND A MOVEMENT

%>.

BY

JOHN E. CLOUGH, d.d.

JAN 19 1915

WRITTEN DOWN FOR HIM BY HIS WIFE

EMMA RAUSCHENBUSCH CLOUGH, Ph.D.

Member of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland
Mitglied der Deutschen Morgenlandischen Gesellschaft

^eto gorft

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1914

COPYXIGHT, 1914

bt the macmillan company

Set up and electrotyped. Published October, 1914

INTRODUCTION

This is one of the great stories of modern missions.
Numerous short versions of it have for years been
circulated. It is here told for the first time in full.

During three decades unusual tidings reached the
Christian world from the little Telugu town of Ongole,
in southern India. These tidings dealt with events
of a religious nature in so dramatic a form that they
appealed to the imagination as well as to the faith of
men. They were full of the romance of missions : there
was prophecy fulfilled, inspiration voiced in song, and
there was manifestation of a simple faith in Jesus, the
Christ, by such numbers that it approached the miracu-
lous. In an out-of-the-way place of the world striking
phenomena of a spiritual nature occurred, which most
of the followers of Jesus had begun to believe im-
possible.

The facts were simple, and distinctly human, never-
theless most unusual. The mass baptism of nearly nine
thousand persons in six weeks received its appealingly
picturesque setting in a huge famine camp, where the
starving were brought together. Yet not the pangs of
hunger, nor the hope of help could wholly explain how
the religious impulse could move thousands to awaken out
of the apathy of their ignorant, downtrodden lives, and
walk long distances to give expression to the newly-
born faith within them, and to demand the Christian
rite of baptism.

It all sounded strangely like the early centuries of
the Christian era. Men marveled at it, and felt their

VI INTRODUCTION

faith refreshed. They pointed to that mass movement
in the far-off Telugu country when they looked for tests
on which to stake their trust in the power of the Christ
to touch the hearts of men in large numbers even to-day.

The story was repeated hundreds of times the world
over. Among all the links that were then being forged
to bind the West to the East, in the beginnings of the
racial contact which is now assuming such vast propor-
tions, that story played a part. It forced a host of Chris-
tians who seldom thought beyond their own country
and their own race to ask, Who are those people whose
faith in our Master, Jesus, is so simple and so strong?
They thus took the first step in the direction of that
larger sense of brotherhood which enfolds all races.

At the time when this story begins, in the middle
of the last century, India was not yet awake as she is
to-day. That interchange of thought had only just be-
gun, between East and West, which led the thinkers of
the West to the fountain of the ancient wisdom of India,
and gave in turn to the Hindu some access to the men-
tal striving which marks the Anglo-Saxon race. Eng-
land had but just become the reigning political power.
Religious liberty had been proclaimed, but had yet to
be taught to intolerant village officials. The caste sys-
tem as an arrangement of the social order had become
a species of tyranny to hold the people down. At the
bottom round of the social ladder, in a position almost of
serfdom, were the tribes of Pariahs. The ancient com-
munal village system, though even then beginning to
disintegrate under English rule, was still intact and
pressed the Pariahs sorely. It came to pass that among
one of these out caste tribes there was a mass movement
toward Christianity. Of that movement this is the
story.

INTRODUCTION Vll

When John E. Clough went to India in 1864, the
project of foreign missions was in its early vigorous
youth. There was opportunity for heroism. It was a
time of the free reaching out of missionary pioneers,
scattered here and there, the propaganda spirit strong
upon them, their methods yet in the making, and their
problems slowly taking shape. Some of them developed
into men of striking personality — into men who were a
pronounced embodiment of the white man's way of
taking life and its resources. By their dwelling among
them, these men made available to Asiatics to some ex-
tent the heritage of Western thought and motive.

Like their great Master, these early missionaries had
the tendency to address themselves to the poor and lowly.
Though seldom received by the higher classes of the
Indian population, they found that the outcaste tribes
received them gladly. They took upon themselves the
burdens of the heavy laden, and as time passed identified
themselves more and more with the interests of the
Pariah classes. Ready to second the efforts of enlight-
ened English government officials, they labored for the
uplifting of the submerged tenth of the population.

To-day the Hindus realize that they missed an im-
portant opportunity while they held aloof from the
Pariahs, and allowed them to reach out after better
social conditions under the tutelage of the foreign
religion. They have reason to fear that the organic con-
nection between high and low has thereby been weak-
ened, and they are now beginning to cope with the
problem on lines distinctly oriental. This marks a phase
of the onward tread of a nation. But the fact remains
that here the missionaries were the pathfinders. And
Dr. Clough stands out among his fellow pioneers in
the front rank, second to none. In so far as he became
the leader of several hundred thousand Pariahs in a

Vlll INTRODUCTION

movement toward adequate recognition in the social or-
ganism, he took part in the reconstruction of modern
India on lines indicated by the progressive Christian
nations of the West.

A peculiar condition of preparedness was waiting for
the contact with him. The man seldom creates the sit-
uation; the two must find each other. In this case a
nucleus of spiritual force of a distinctly oriental type
had been engendered, with which he came in touch soon
after his arrival in Ongole, and the birth of that mass
movement toward Christianity took place then and there.
A close relation existed between several preceding
Hindu religious movements and the Christian movement
which spread over the same area. Indian religious re-
formers had prepared the way. Through them most
of the men and women who became leaders in the Chris-
tian movement had come under Yoga teaching. The
Christian propaganda inherited the religious fervor fos-
tered in Indian mysticism.

In more ways than he realized, Dr. Clough worked
on the lines of primitive Christianity. Like the Chris-
tians of apostolic times, he and his staff of preachers
simply told and retold the story of the life and death
of Jesus, the Christ, with a tireless zeal, and around the
personality of Jesus as a living, loving reality men gath-
ered in thousands. Dr. Clough had a singular conviction
that he was acting as his ambassador. He was often
spoken of as the "Apostle to the Telugus." In so far as
the movement was a revival of primitive Christianity it
was successful.

From the beginning of his career, Dr dough's
strength lay in the fact that he so thoroughly wrought
out his own methods. He had the typical American
capacity of seeing a need clearly and meeting it promptly.
There was a boldness in his methods that led him to

INTRODUCTION IX

hew a fresh track off the beaten highroad. Other men,
consciously or unconsciously, followed him. Students of
missions believe that he inaugurated a new era in modern
foreign missions. There were controversies over his
methods all through the years, yet he and his mission
stood unmoved. He felt the pressure of destiny which
used him as a part in some great design, and often he
forged ahead fearlessly when he scarcely knew where
the path was leading him.

The old missionary aim had been to seek the conver-
sion of individuals; to get them detached from their
previous life, one by one, and gathered into churches.
Dr. Clough did not discard this aim; he added to it
his faculty of getting hold of men. Early in his career
he recognized the importance of the social group; he
left men in it and Christianized the group. Family
cohesion and tribal characteristics were factors with
which he reckoned. And when, with the gregarious in-
stincts that dominate an eastern tribe, they came over
to Christianity in families, in villages, in crowds, he
was not afraid of them; he had become an expert on
their social organization, and could handle the crisis.

It had been a method much used by the older mis-
sionaries, to go to annual temple festivals, and to use
occasions of religious excitement to bring to the minds
of the gathered crowds the teachings of the new re-
ligion. This he discarded wholly. He preferred to take
men in their own home environment, not as detached
units away from home. From the first he went straight
into Indian village life and planted centers of Christian
activity there that grew and flourished with evident life.

He believed in a large use of native agency in evan-
gelization. In a masterly fashion he picked out the men
who rose above the rest and drew out the best that
was in them. He let his preachers stay as close to the

X INTRODUCTION

model of the Hindu Guru — the spiritual teacher whom
they had known in the old regime — as was possible.
Always ready to heed the opinions of his staff of work-
ers, they taught him to see with their eyes. On the
basis of the primitive system of self-government exist-
ing in the Indian village, he built up a rudimentary
church government. Leaving the people in their own
grooves, respecting their old customs wherever principle
was not at stake, he inspired the social organization with
the Christian spirit. Therein lay the cause for the
stability of the movement : the foundations were oriental
and therefore permanent.

That mass movement toward Christianity in the
Orient has already receded sufficiently far into the past
to permit a historical estimate of its value. The thou-
sands who participated in it have mostly passed away;
they lived in the faith and died in it. There has not
been a single break in the continuity. The Telugu Mis-
sion of the American Baptist Foreign Mission Society
has a staff of more than one hundred missionaries, sixty
thousand communicant members, two hundred thousand
adherents, and schools by the hundred. The "whole-
sale baptisms" of thirty years ago were not followed
by wholesale apostasy. There was no lamentable dimin-
ishing of religious fervor. As Dr. Clough used to say,
"Jesus kept them all faithful to the end." It therefore
appears that this movement toward Christianity within
a primitive outcaste Asiatic tribe will have to be marked
in the history of missions as a success, and will have
to go down in church history as such.

It remains for me to state the manner in which my
husband and I cooperated in producing this book. The
story is his; the writing is mine. When we began this
book in the summer of 1908, he was already past writing
anything himself, and he was almost past dictating.

INTRODUCTION XI

His memory for facts and dates was nearly gone, but
that was unessential: I had gathered the facts.

My material was abundant. There were his diaries
for forty years, printed reports and newspaper cuttings
for all those years, and many packages of old letters.
He had dictated to me, ten years before, much pertain-
ing to his early life, previous to going to India. All
the old stories which I used to hear him tell in the
course of years, if not in my notebook, were stored in
my memory. I put them all into the book, nor did I let
them lose that slight touch of boast fulness that generally
characterizes a masterful man's reminiscences.

I had drawn upon other sources also. I knew person-
ally nearly all the men and women mentioned in this
story, and with many of them I had had long talks,
all with a view to obtaining the information which I
knew would be needed for this book. My notebook
was full of the stories which the old preachers of the
mission told me. I went over many of them with my
husband ; and he asked me to put them all in. He had
a great love for those men, his faithful staff of workers
through all the years, and wanted their stories to form
a part of his own.

It often encouraged us both to find how old friends
were willing to take hold and help, so that there might
be neither errors nor lack of information. It is for me
now to tender our grateful thanks to them, especially
to those who went over the manuscript with me, thus
making less the responsibility which had fallen upon
me alone.

We were always glad that we decided to give the book
the form of an autobiography. He trusted me by giving
me the utmost freedom as his biographer, and in return
for this trust I eliminated myself, and made it my sole
aim to give him opportunity to tell his story in his own

XM INTRODUCTION

way. I had to think with him, to use his manner of
speech, to voice his opinions, and to Hve his life over
again with him. It was intimate mental partnership,
in which he found expression, whereas it was for me to
practice literary renunciation.

He looked upon the telling of this story as a last
duty which he must perform. The close of his life had
come. Silence reigned where there had been strenuous
activity. Losing his grip on the present, his soul was
wandering in the past. The lesser values of his life
were receding; the mountain peaks of the larger, wider
life were coming into view. I found that while his
memory for definite actions had become faint, the mo-
tives for them stood out luminous. I drew on him for
the results of his days and nights of retrospect. They
will be found all through the book. Very willingly he
went with me whenever he saw me depart from tjie
lines of the ordinary missionary story, and with a deep
insight he helped me find the application in his own story
to that larger design in foreign missions which must
yet work itself out.

When we were nearing the end of our work, I said
to him, "Your readers will wonder how it was that
wherever you went among your Telugus, and preached,
they straightway opened their hearts and believed your
message." He replied, **One thing I know : I loved the
people. And when I told them in the simplest words
that I could use about Jesus Christ and his love for
them, they somehow believed me. Whether my listeners
were a few, or whether they were a crowd, by the time
I was done telling them of Jesus' love, they believed in it
and wanted it."

I said, "The most thoughtful of your readers will wish
you had said something as to whether you felt aware
of being the medium between the Master Jesus and

INTRODUCTION XIU

those people, — whether any power of believing was trans-
mitted through you." He thought a few moments and
then replied, "I think I had better keep still about that."
I had come to his Holy of Holies, and he refused to lift
the curtain. I said nothing more, and saw that he was
deep in thought, wrapped in the mysteries which per-
haps have been revealed to him since then.

To me — the comrade of ten hard, crippled years — he
left the task of completing his book. I stayed a year
in the room adjoining the one in which he closed his
eyes, first in my greatly needed convalescence, then at
work. I never lost sight of his point of view, always
eliminating myself, always letting memory reproduce
even the words he was wont to use. On the spiritual
aspects throughout the story I dwelt with all the rever-
ence which we human beings feci for that in each other
which binds us to God.

E. R. C.

CONTENTS

PAGB

Introduction v

CHAPTER

I. A Pioneer Boy in the Forties ...... i

II. Staking Out the Young West i8

III. Working Through College 28

IV. The Call of the Far East 44

V. Around the Cape to India 55

VI. My Apprenticeship at Missions 72

VII. The Destined Leaders of a Movement .... 92

VIII. Education for an Illiterate People .... 109

IX. A Crisis and My Orders 123

X. Coming by Hundreds 136

XI. A Social Revolution 159

XII. The Impact of West Upon East 185

XIII. Reenforcements 210

XIV. Marking Mission Boundaries 223

XV. An Indian Famine 237

XVI. Nine Thousand in Six Weeks 263

XVII. Christendom Facing a New Pentecost .... 291

XVIII. A Church of Fifteen Thousand Members . . . 313

XIX. An Eastern People and Western Organization . 326

XX, Self-Support in Practice 347

XXI. The Response at Home 365

XXII. The End of Life 382

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

John E. Clough Frontispiece

PACING PAGE

Map of a Portion of South India i

Harriet Sunderland Clough 40

Prophetic Vision : Lyman Jewett, D.D., "Prayer Meeting Hill" 68

The Forerunner of a Mass Movement 92

The Old Order and the New: An Idol Shrine, A Baptistery . 156

Social Betterment : A Christian Village Chapel, A Hindu Guru,

Village Idols 192

John E. Clough after Seven Years in India .... 202

Practical Christianity : Famine Sufferers, Coolies Digging,

The Buckingham Canal 248

Jonah G. Warren, D.D 272

A Pentecostal Baptism 286

Fifteen Thousand Members : Their Church Home, Their Mis-
sion House, Their "Dhora" on Tour 316

Dr. Clough and His People 362

SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY
IN THE ORIENT

i
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78 Longitude East 79 from Greenwich 80

By courtesy of the American Baptist Foreign Mission Society.

SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN
THE ORIENT

A PIONEER BOY IN THE FORTIES

My birth year, 1836, saw the beginning" of many en-
terprises of a religious and philanthropic nature. Many
of the men of that year also had these characteristics.
The Telugu Mission and I, born at the same time, had
similar experiences till we came to a meeting point, and
after that we became so knitted together that the story
of the one was also the story of the other.

I was born in a blockhouse, on a farm near Frews-
burg, Chautauqua County, New York, July 16, 1836.
My parents named me John Everett after an uncle of
mine. Western New York was at that time a new and
unsettled country. Thrifty, resourceful families from
the New England States were emigrating to these parts.
Many a man who afterwards did hard work in the world
was born into one of those pioneer families in Western
New York.

My father's family came originally from Wales. The
name Clough is said to be derived from the Celtic, mean-
ing stone. The ancestor of the American branch of the
family sailed from London in 1635, and settled in Salis-
bury, Massachusetts. His descendants had the staunch
qualities of the early settlers and were ready to fight for
their country. My grandfather shouldered his gun un-

2 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

der Washington, during the Revolutionary War, pass-
ing through the hard winter at Valley Forge.

Through my mother I am of Scotch-English descent.
Her mother was of the Scotch clan of the McEwans,
a clan noted for piety. Her father was a Sturgeon,
descended from a family which, it is said, originally
came from Holland and emigrated to England in the
twelfth century. One of her ancestors was ennobled
for some meritorious service to an English king. Two
Sturgeon brothers became famous leaders in the defense
of Derry, Ireland, in 1689. The son of one of these
brothers came to America in 1720, and settled in Penn-
sylvania. He was my ancestor. My mother's grand-
father fought in the war of the Revolution. Her father
with three brothers cut their way four miles through
the forests of Pennsylvania, and took possession of land
which they had purchased. The town of Fairview was
built on their property.

Through my mother I am of the fifth generation of
early settlers, and through my father I am the seventh
American in a direct line. Very likely I have a good
deal of the Yankee in my make-up, and I am proud
of it. My love for India came afterwards, and my
loyalty to the English Government came with it. But
it was all grafted upon my Yankee instincts. There
was never a time when I could not easily become stirred
with love for my country.

I had scarcely come into the world when my parents
lost all their property. My father was doing well in
the lumber business. He was a kind-hearted man, and
people came to him for help when in trouble. Through
loyalty to a friend he signed a note which he afterwards
was obliged to pay in full. Everything was swept away,
including my mother's handsome dowry. My sister re-
members how mother stood in the doorway and looked

A PIONEER BOY IN THE FORTIES 3

on as the horses and cattle which were part of the dowry
were driven away. She did not blame father, for she
knew he had acted in good faith. But my destiny was
changed while I lay in the cradle. I grew up a poor
man's son.

My parents told me that when the family physician
saw me, he said, ''One continent will be too small to
hold that boy." An old Indian chief from a reserva-
tion of peaceful Indians — the Alleghanys — was one of
my earliest friends. He told my mother that I would
become a great medicine man, and ranked me thus
among the wise men of the Indian tribes, who knew
their hidden wisdom and communed with the Great
Spirit. He brought me as a present a little pair of
moccasins, done in beadwork, in the finest Indian fashion.
I wore them as my first shoes, and learned to walk in
them.

Evidently I was a sturdy child, and seem to have been
somewhat unmanageable. I would not take anything
from hearsay, but had to test everything myself. If I
was on the wrong track, I would not stop until I found
it out for myself, generally by coming to grief in some
way. When I was about four years old, my mother
went on an errand one day to the nearest neighbors,
about half a mile away. She left me with Jane, who
was three years older than I. When I realized that
mother was gone, I broke loose and started after her.
The snow was deep, and before Jane could get someone
to help her control me I had gone far, and had frozen
my feet badly. On another occasion I hurt myself be-
cause I wanted a stick which I saw when going through
the woods with one of my brothers. I watched my
opportunity, got the axe, and started for the stick. A
log lay in the way. I dropped the axe over, but in climb-

4 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

ing after it, put my hand on its edge and cut myself
severely.

The stones told at the fireside in my home were of
a kind to keep my youthful mind intensely excited. The
war of the Revolution formed a frequent topic of con-
versation. My father often told stories about it, which
he had heard his father tell. There were men coming
and going who had fought in the War of 1812. Two of
my father's brothers had served in that war. It was
then in the recent past that the English, under stress of
war, had agreed to pay the Indians a good price for
the scalps of settlers. Thus my uncle was scalped, and
hundreds of Americans at the same time. I listened and
wished I were big enough to fight; I would have con-
sidered it good service to kill an Englishman.

My mother, when a girl, heard the cannonading on
Lake Erie from Commodore Perry's fleet. She knew
Sergeant Bird, who distinguished himself in that battle,
carrying the flag. By a captain in command he was
wrongfully court-martialed and sentenced to death. Com-
modore Perry himself came riding fast, waving a flag
to stop the execution, but he was too late. The man
was shot. My mother told us children this story, and
sometimes she sang a song that had been composed about
"Gallant Bird.'* It Is one of my earliest recollections
that I was burning with indignation over the wrong done
to my mother's friend.

Then there were the Indians about whom I heard
many stories, especially from my mother. She passed
her girlhood in the forests, where the white settlers were
constantly taking precautions, fearing the cruelty of the
Indians. Only six weeks, all told, did my mother have
opportunity to go to school. When she was fourteen
years old she lost her mother by death. She then kept
house for her father and took charge of two younger

A PIONEER BOY IN THE FORTIES 5

brothers and a sister. Once she saw a gang of Indians
approaching. She hurried the children into some hiding
place. The men of the family were out on the fields.
The Indians passed and did no harm.

It all made me feel, as I listened, as if I ought to be
fighting, no matter whether the Indians or the English.
Often I made war on an old gander in the barn-yard.
Whether, for the time being, he was an Indian or an
Englishman, he was always ready for a fight. It was
a square fight too, for if I did not look out he caught
me and whipped me with his wings. There was a big
grain-stack in the farm-yard, which I called my fort.
Another little boy and I bombarded it with stones, and
played that it was war. But the day came when a man
brought a threshing machine and threshers. The stones
got into the machine and stopped it every little while.
The men swore and said it would ruin the machine. My
father and all on the farm knew who had done it, but
they did not tell. The other boy and I ran into the
woods and kept out of sight, so as to escape questions.
It was more fun telling about it afterwards than it was
that day.

A neighbor had obtained turkeys' eggs and had put
them under a hen to hatch. His young son and I kept
our eye on that old hen. We heard our parents talk
about the time it would take, and concluded that the
old hen was not doing right by the turkeys and ought to
be helped. We drove her off the nest, picked the eggs
open and got the little turkeys out — liberated them. They
stood up a few minutes and then fell over and died. Our
parents were ready to annihilate us, but they did not
do it.

I do not remember that my mother ever told me Bible
stories, or taught me to say my evening prayers. There
was a Sunday school some miles away to which my

6 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

brothers went, but it was too far for me. My mother's
father had held to family prayers. Once, when the
young people were going cranberrying, he made them
come to prayers first, and prayed so long that their knees
ached, while their companions stood outside waiting for
them. A large share of his wealth went to his church.
Soon after his death the members divided into Old
School and New School Presbyterians, and each faction
claimed the money and lands; they went to law about
it and lost most of it in litigation. All this probably
had something to do with my mother's silence about re-
ligious matters. She let me grow up untaught. My
father kept the Puritan Sabbath. If he saw me out in
front of the house playing marbles, he rapped on the
window: *'Bub, it is Sunday to-day, not the day for
play."

A little playmate and I were discussing one day what
we would do when we were men. Among other great
exploits I said I was going to kill the devil. He re-
marked, *'But you cannot kill God." I replied, *'There
is no God; for I do not see him." My playmate said,
"Yes, there is. He is everywhere." It was my great
ambition at that time to have a pocket in my jacket.
I therefore replied, "Then God must be in my pocket,
and he is not there." What he said in turn, I do not
remember. He had been taught in his home. I grew up
a little heathen.

When I was five or six years old, I was deeply af-
fected by the Millerite excitement. Mr. Miller lived
only forty miles away. Men were going over the coun-
try saying the world was going to burn up. The aurora
borealis was playing every night, brighter than light-
ning, and all the northern heavens were ablaze. In
Jamestown, a few miles away, a whole company of
people were assembled for days, clad in white robes,

A PIONEER BOY IN THE FORTIES 7

expecting every moment to be lifted up at the second
coming of our Lord. My family did not join in the
excitement, but of course no one talked of anything else.
I listened, and was much frightened. At night I stayed
close to the grown people and asked them often how
the fire was going to be put out. In the daytime I fol-
lowed father into the woods, where he was drawing logs
to the sawmill, and did not lose sight of him. He talked
with me and made me forget my fear. Then, when
nothing came of it all, I was old enough to feel the re-
action. I was disgusted, and it made me averse to re-
ligious excitement for the rest of my life.

It was about this time that a missionary came and
spoke at Jamestown. He had an idol with him, which
was passed around. People took it home to show it to
their families. My mother, too, had it, and she let us
children see it. This was my introduction to foreign
missions.

My first day at school came when I was only five years
old. My mother sent me with Jane and two of my
brothers, by the short cut, a mile or two across fields
and over fences to the little red-painted, clapboard school-
house. I went willingly enough, it seems. The teacher
was much loved by the children. She smiled at them,
and then they did what she told them to do. Presently
she called me to her desk and I went quite fearlessly.
She said she wanted me to say my ABC. I replied,
"But I won't say my A B C." She took the primer
and pointed to the first letter : "There is A, now say A."
I replied, "I won't say A." Next she tried me on B.
The same answer: "I won't say B." She said, "But
you just said B." I held my ground and said, "But I
won't say B again."

The other children were all smiling. The teacher was
too wise to fight me, she said, "You have done very

8 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

well. You have said A nicely." This did not suit me
at all. I was mad and waited for a chance to run home.
Recess came, and I was soon out of the door. Jane
and the boys ran after me and held me by the shoulders
and legs. I battled with them and would have torn
away, if the teacher had not come. She said, "Why,
Everett, you do not want to go home. You want to
wear my watch." She put it around my neck, and told
me to sit still and I could hear it tick. I was tame as a
lamb after that.

A year later I had my first day out in public. The
volunteers of that region were to have a day for train-
ing at Frewsburg. My father took me with him. To
hear the cannon booming as we approached the town
excited me a good deal. I held my father's hand tightly
as we walked along. He showed me the horse-racing,
and let me see the cannon at a safe distance, and bought
raisins and crackers' as a treat for me. I had led such
an isolated life on the farm that the experiences of
the day stirred me.

I now began to go to the creek with the other boys
to fish, and found that pin-hooks would not catch fish,
though it was just as much fun. My big brothers took
me swimming. One of them would go into the water
with me on his back, and would let me slip off, forcing
me thus to strike out for myself. Or if I made him
promise not to let me slip, he would dive with me
on his back.

The first public recognition of my capability happened
one spring in the "sugar-bush." The sap from the maple
trees in our grove was trickling into buckets. In the
sugar-camp the sap was turned into sugar in large kettles,
hung over a slow fire. A steady yoke of oxen went
back and forth with the buckets. My father let me drive
them. The old oxen knew their way by themselves, but

A PIONEER BOY IN THE FORTIES 9

I was very proud, driving them. This sport lasted a
week or two. My keen interest in the maple sugar cooled
down after the first few days. The men asked me how
much I thought I could eat of it. I said I could manage
a bucketful. They laughed, and when I tried and soon
had enough they laughed more.

When I was about eight years old, a decisive change
was contemplated by my parents. Their attempts at
coming back to their former prosperity had brought
little success. They owned land in southern Wisconsin.
This was then the Far West, and the federal government
was holding out inducements to settlers. Rich prairie
land could be obtained at twenty-five cents an acre. My
mother had five boys growing up around her, three older
and one younger than I. She wanted to settle on one
of those large farms in the West, so that her sons could
each take a portion and be independent, and could yet
all be together. With that idea in mind, she was
willing to turn her face to the Far West. Such clothing
as the family was supposed to need for a year or
two was made ready. Everything that could not be con-
veniently taken along in two large wagons was sold.
Early in September, 1844, we started.

My mother's ancestral home was on our way. We
halted there, and found ourselves in the midst of political
excitement. Henry Clay and James K. Polk were in
contest for the presidential election. A great mass meet-
ing was held at Erie, ten miles away. During several
days wagons were passing our place, drawn by many
horses — one had twenty-four — decorated with flags and
ridden by boys in uniform. The wagons were trimmed
with high poles on which were raccoons and bunting.
My youthful Ameri^ an enthusiasm was at its height.
With some young cousins I took my stand on a pile of
stones near the roa 1 and, expressive of the sentiment of

lO SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

the family, shouted, "Hurrah for Henry Clay !" at every
passing wagon. When not shouting we had to fight a
nest of bumble-bees living in that pile of stone. Six
old ganders were constantly attacking us. We had to
club them and stone them and make them withdraw, in
the intervals of our shouting. It was great sport.

A long, tedious journey was now before us. As far
as Cleveland — then a small town — there was a fair road.
Then the hardships began. The Maumee Swamp was
only thirty miles wide, but progress was slow, going
bump, bump over the logs which had been laid down,
making a corduroy road. When within sixty miles of
Chicago we had an anxious night. We had retired,
mother and the younger children in the wagons, father
and the older boys rolled in blankets under the wagons,
in regular emigrant fashion, when some one noticed that
the horses had stampeded. The fear was that they had
been stolen, and were even now being driven over the
prairies, beyond our reach. Father and my three brothers
started out in every direction in search of them. Mother
stayed by the wagons and blew a tin dinner horn every
few minutes, so that father and the boys might know how
to find their way back. It was a long night — I remember
it well. I was awake, staying close to mother, learning
how to go through anxious hours. At last, toward morn-
ing, one of the brothers appeared, riding back with the
strayed horses.

We had gone just beyond Chicago when snow fell.
Winter had overtaken us. Father went into the nearest
village, hired a small house, and there we abode till
spring. A series of reverses now came upon us. It was
decided that father should start out with one of the
wagons and spy out the land in Wisconsin. He had gone
a few miles, and was holding a pail of water up to the
horses to drink, when they became frightened at some-

A PIONEER BOY IN THE FORTIES II

thing, knocked him down and ran the wagon over
him. With ribs and shoulder broken he was brought
back to us. He had been an unusually strong man.
From the effects of this accident he never fully recovered.
While he lay crippled, he heard that the land in Wis-
consin which he owned was nearly worthless. It was
decided to settle on a farm in Winnebago County,
Illinois.

On this farm I passed two or three of the hardest
years of my life. If it was so ordained that I was to
endure poverty, perhaps the clean poverty of pioneer
life was the least objectionable kind. My parents shel-
tered me in our home. I was never exposed to the rough
usage of those who stand ready to grind down the chil-
dren of the poor. But my boyhood was nipped by an
early frost. I could never again be like other boys.
From that time on life brought me work, incessant work.
I have always felt that through those hard experiences,
something went out of my life which never came back.

There is one thing that I learned during those years :
I learned how it feels to go hungry. For one who was
to become a missionary to thousands of the poorest
people in India, who have to go hungry many a day in
the year, perhaps it was necessary training. I never
forgot it. Many a time when those poor, outcaste people
in India complained that they had only one meal a day
to eat, and that of a cheap kind of porridge, I told them,
*'You cannot tell me anything about poverty. Porridge
and potatoes was all my mother had to give me during
one winter, and not enough of that." They knew by
the look on my face that I was telling them the truth,
and it made a strong bond of fellowship between us.

My mother rose to the emergency and kept the wolf
from the door. Too proud to tell her wealthy brothers
in the East of our trouble, she found ways to tide

12 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

US over to better times. She procured bran, sifted it,
and baked bread of it. Our supply of clothes was giving
out. When we children had gone to bed, she mended our
clothes, washed them and dried them by the fire over
night, and thus clean she sent us to school the next morn-
ing. The children of the older settlers had well-filled
lunch baskets. I often hid behind the schoolhouse and
ate my piece of cornbread there. There were few settlers
who had not gone through times such as we were en-
during. No one felt degraded by temporary poverty,
which was bound to yield to thrift and bounty. Still, it
was a grinding experience.

The bright spot to me in all the dreariness of those
years was my poultry yard. I was only nine years old
when I was given the chores to do, that my father and
brothers might devote themselves to the hard work of
the farm. There was one cow to tend, and there was
a humble little family of hens, which began to interest
me. I noticed the fowls of neighboring farmers. I
could not see a nice fowl without wanting it. By ex-
change or gift I came into possession of Shanghais,
geese, ducks and guinea hens. After a few years mine
was the finest poultry yard in all that section. The
eggs, taken to the country store, provided groceries for
our table. No one interfered with me about that poultry
yard. I was a Yankee boy and wanted to be boss over
something. My family respected my rights. I took
great pride in my Shanghai rooster. Some neighbors
gave him to me when he was a mere chick. I guarded
him as the apple of my eye. He had a crowing acquaint-
ance with every rooster of the neighborhood. None
were as big as he. We moved to a farm about a mile
away. He was not satisfied. Before daylight the first
morning he began to communicate with his friends. By
crowing back and forth he found his way through the

A PIONEER BOY IN THE FORTIES I3

forest to the old place. All the neighborhood heard of
this performance, and how I had to go and bring the
big fellow home in my arms. It was something to
live for.

As I grew older I came into more work. One sum-
mer I had to shepherd about six hundred sheep, driving
them out on the open prairie in the early morning, keep-
ing the dogs and wolves off during the day, and bring-
ing them home in the evening. It was tedious work for
a boy. The silly sheep used to stare at me and bleat and
run around in stupid fashion. I did not see how any-
one could love a sheep. It was heavier work when my
brother Cyrus bought a plow for breaking prairie land,
and wanted me to drive the six yoke of oxen hitched
to the plow. There was demand for such work and it
was well paid. During those years I helped the farmers
to bring many an acre of prairie land under cultiva-
tion.

My education meanwhile was not neglected. An in-
capable teacher had been presiding over our school. The
parents of the children were dissatisfied. They talked
it over. My parents knew of a superior young woman,
and my father, acting on behalf of the school board,
went himself and engaged her and brought her. She
proved to be one of the best teachers I ever had. It was
a happy winter for me. As the oldest pupil in the
school, I had the right of way to her all the time. I
began to grow hungry for an education. That good
woman fostered in me ambition which bore fruit.

About this time, when I was fourteen years old, an-
other good woman, the wife of Judge Farwell, spoke
words to me that touched me more deeply than any-
thing I had thus far known. She woke me up. There
was not a woman in all that region more respected than
she. Cyrus had worked on her farm, and sometimes

14 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

she engaged me for smaller jobs. She often spoke kindly
to me, and gave me presents. One day she brought me a
thick book. It was the "Antiquities of Greece." She
said, "See, Everett, you do not understand this now, but
before many years you will be reading just such books
as this, and you will want it then." Cyrus heard her say
this and reported it to the family. I went home with
my prize, and no one knew how the hidden springs of
my nature were stirred. I had been marked for a career
beyond the range of my father's farm. The call of the
world began to ring in my ears.

It seems the boys of the neighborhood looked up to
me. I was in touch with their boyish affairs, and ap-
pear to have given them sage advice at times, to
help them keep out of trouble. They said, "Everett is
going to be a lawyer." As a boy, among boys, I was
singled out for a legal career. Sometimes, as my par-
ents sat together, I went to them, and in a way that
could only be pleasing to them I urged that something
be changed, or some new scheme be undertaken. After
listening to me, my father would say, "Well, maybe
Everett is right. I think we had better do that way."

Meanwhile, after four or five years of hard work, we
had come into a good degree of prosperity. A railroad
passed through our land, enabling us to sell at large
profit. With the proceeds of this sale and our hard-
earned money we decided to move to Iowa. We were
following on the track of the Indians. Iowa had been
the hunting ground of several original tribes. By suc-
cessive treaties the government had purchased it from
them. Settlers were encouraged to take possession ol
the rich prairie land now open to them. It was at
best a hazardous undertaking. We knew that we would
be in danger of Indian cruelty for years to come. Seven
years later, only about a hundred miles northwest of us.

A PIONEER BOY IN THE FORTIES IS

the white population of the state was nearly annihilated
by the Indians. However, we decided to run the risk.
My father staked off nearly sixteen hundred acres of
beautiful prairie land in Iowa by what was called "the
right of squatter sovereignty," forty acres to a block.
Our property was on the section called Strawberry Point.
It had been named thus by some soldiers, passing through
to Indian wars, who found acres of wild strawberries
growing there.

When we moved over to Iowa we were quite a caravan
of wagons, horses, cows, six yoke of oxen, and pro-
visions enough to last a year. Again on the outskirts
of civilization, we found ourselves among settlers who
were going through privations similar to those which
we endured a few years previously. Some of them had
not seen bread made of flour for a long time. My
mother had flour enough to last our family a year. The
memory of her own hard times was strong upon her.
She wanted to divide with everyone. She gave away of
her tea, a luxury among settlers, and often she ate corn-
bread herself that she might have more flour to give
away. We were prosperous, but I had to continue to
work hard. During the winters I went to school, walk-
ing several miles back and forth. In summer, as hired
help was hard to obtain in that thinly populated part of
the state, I had to take my place with the men. Only
fifteen years old, I did a man's work from that time on.
It did not hurt me, but I think if I had not worked so
strenuously during that growing period, I might have
been a few inches taller, and stood six feet in height.

I began now to reach out: life was rich with hope.
I was thirsting for experience, and went with zest into
everything that came my way. On a Fourth of July
there was to be a big celebration in a town ten miles
away. The farmers scattered here and there were all go-

l6 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

ing, leaving only a few of the older people at home on
the farms. From our neighborhood two large wagons,
trimmed with greens, were filled with sight-seers. One
belonged to us, with six yoke of oxen hitched in front.
My brothers said, "Everett shall drive." The women of
our family had made a large flag, which was fastened
over the wagon so that it waved over my head. There
was not a prouder boy in Iowa that day than I, driving
those twelve oxen. Our wagon was cheered all along
the road, and the crowd gathered to see it when we
arrived where the political stump speeches were to be
delivered.

At the marriage of my sister Jane I again asserted
myself. She had been a good comrade to me. To hide
my feelings in losing her, I arranged for a "shivaree"
on the night of the wedding. I gathered the lads of the
vicinity, and with horns, bells, tin pans, and horse fiddles
we marched around the house, while it was snowing
hard. Then we halted, and called for the bride and
groom.

Always without fear of anyone, I made an exhorter
beat a hasty retreat from our barn one day. I was
there with my brothers, cleaning wheat, when this man
came in, and without waiting for an invitation began
to exhort. I knew him, and considered him a rank
hypocrite. I reached up, took from a beam a pack of
cards, and holding them toward him, asked him whether
he would not have a game of euchre. Thus foiled, he
began to hurl curses at me, but the forbidding looks of
my brothers warned him that our barn was not a good
place for him.

I was self-righteous in those days. I considered my-
self as good as anyone, and better than some who were
doing a good deal of preaching. My mother could not
persuade me to go to Sunday school any more. I felt

A PIONEER BOY IN THE FORTIES 1/

myself too good. The Methodists were holding revival
meetings in a big barn. Jane and two of my brothers
went and were deeply impressed. They urged me to
come, but I refused. I had heard some Universalists
talk about the ultimate redemption of everyone. I used
to say, *Tf God has any account against me, let him
send in his bill, and I will see whether I cannot pay."

One Sunday I took the gun to go shooting. Father
said, "It is Sunday, do not go." I said I was going to
bring a buck home and went. The breach-pin blew
out of the gun, gave me a deep gash across my fore-
head and drove the powder into my face. I came home
and urged Jane to take a needle and pick the powder out.
She was nearly sick with the sight of so much blood.
I had no pity on her, and while digging out the powder
she gave vent to her feelings by telling me what she
thought about my going shooting on Sunday, and my
general air of self-sufficiency.

The time came for me to leave my father's house. My
early years had all been passed on the borders of civiliza-
tion. I was now to penetrate into an uninhabited wil-
derness.

II

STAKING OUT THE YOUNG WEST

Early in 1853, when I was nearly seventeen years
old, I came home one evening- from the plow, after
breaking new land all day, and saw covered wagons and
some mules near the house. Evidently strangers had
come. This was nothing new. No traveler was turned
hungry from my father's door. His was squatter hos-
pitality, with the latch-string out.

Our guest this time was Mr. W. I. Anderson, a
United States surveyor. When on our way to Iowa,
two years before, we had stayed at his home in Dubuque.
He, with his surveying party, now came to us. They
were going to northern Minnesota to survey a tract of
land under contract with the government.

Mr. Anderson had a talk with my father. He told
him that he had his company made up, but still lacked
a man who could turn his hand to anything. This post
he now offered to me. My father was slow to consent.
His family was yet together, and he was not willing
to let his son go into the wilds of Minnesota without
some guarantee for his safety. Mr. Anderson promised
to pay me twenty-five dollars in gold per month, furnish
everything, and see that no harm came to me. It was
a fabulous price to offer an inexperienced boy. I wanted
to go in order to get into something new, and to make
money. Cyrus put in a word at this juncture. He re-

18

STAKING OUT THE YOUNG WEST IQ

membered what the wife of Judge Farwell said in his
hearing about the work in the world which she expected
me to do. He thought this post with the surveyors
might lead to something else for me. He spoke in
favor of my going, and my parents yielded. My mother
packed my supply of clothes into a two-bushel bag; it
was put on the wagon, and off we started early the fol-
lowing morning for Minnesota, then an almost unknown
land.

Ten days later we crossed the Iowa boundary. Now
we had no roads before us, not even a wagon track. We
picked our way along the banks of the Cedar River, and
after a few days reached our camp. Near it a family
of squatters had recently settled on a claim. They had
built a little blockhouse and called the place Austin — a
large town to-day. Work began. My chief gave me a
task of a general nature. I carried the surveyor's chain
and followed those who marked the lines. The demarca-
tion posts were laid upon mules and brought along.
There were miles of walking to do each day, and hard
work for me with axe and spade, which I had to carry.
The country was wholly uninhabited, except by Sioux
Indians and rattlesnakes. Of the latter we killed on the
lines about six a day. We saw roving bands of Sioux
Indians frequently. They generally appeared friendly,
but the half-breeds who passed that way told us stories
of their cruel doings.

My new life had pleasant features. The men were
kind-hearted, we had a good cook, abundant supplies
and enough to eat, and it was a free life out in God's
oj>en country. But I was a very homesick boy. I had
never been away from home before and there was no
way of hearing from my family. If I had known the
road, I might have deserted. But the Indian trail used
by the surveyors was too winding and intricate for

20 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

me, — I had to stay. One day the chief sent me to find
my way three or four miles, correct several posts and
return to camp before dark. I did my work, and then,
thinking that I was miles beyond the hearing of any
human being, I gave vent to my pent-up homesick feel-
ings by crying aloud. A slight noise aroused me. I
looked up, and saw, only a few rods away, partly con-
cealed under the overhanging limbs of a large bur-oak
tree, three Sioux Indians on ponies, war-paint and
feathers on, with tomahawks and spears all ready for
the fray. At the time the Sioux were at war with the
Chippewas. They realized that they were seen, gave a
whoop and galloped off. I was so frightened, I ran back
to the camp as quick as my legs could carry mc. My
homesickness was gone. I held out like a man.

After my return home, in the fall of 1853, ^ heard
that a high school had recently been opened at West
Union, only thirty miles away, and that two young men
whom I knew were there as students. Here now was my
opportunity. I had been longing for an education, but
in that newly settled state the little district schools were
generally second or third rate, and I was unwilling to
go to any of them. Higher institutions were opened
during those years, but none as yet in that part of
Iowa. This high school, however, was within my reach.
Cyrus again was on my side; my parents agreed with
him. I took some of my newly earned money and walked
the thirty miles to West Union.

I did hard work there that winter. Not willing to
pay out my money for board, I worked for that. I went
to the proprietor of the only good hotel in West Union,
a retired Baptist preacher, and asked him whether he
had any work for me to do. He said he had, so I
agreed to stay. I was to saw wood for the stoves, light
the fires, be hostler of stable and barn, and in return

STAKING OUT THE YOUNG WEST 21

for this was to be treated as a regular boarder, eating
at the same table with the rest. It meant getting up
early in the morning, being on hand at noon and again
in the evening. Soon the proprietor expected me to
act for him in his absence. This taught me to be mindful
of the comfort of strangers. It was useful training,
for later, in Ongole, I often had my compound full of
hundreds of people to whom I was practically host.

In my studies during those four or five months I had
a definite end in view. I had taken my bearings among
the surveyors, and knew that if I had technical knowl-
edge I might rise to something higher than hatchet-
carrier among them. I went straight into the studies
that would supply my need, and obtained what I wanted,
though handicapped all the time by lack of adequate pre-
liminary education. It was this circumstance, partly,
that led to a remark from the principal of the high
school that "in Clough a good farmer would be spoiled
to make a poor lawyer.*' Somehow my ambition to be-
come a lawyer was always known to those with whom
I came in contact. This remark, when I heard it, had
a discouraging effect upon me. The wife of my em-
ployer, too, heard of it, and was indignant. She told
me not to mind it, that she was sure I was going to
come out ahead in the end, and that I would some day
be a lawyer. I never forgot how I felt when I had to
fight the discouragement produced by that remark. Many
a Telugu lad, in after years, was given a chance to
learn, no matter how unpromising he might seem, if I
saw that he had set his heart on rising in life. I
could easily put myself in his place, for I had been there
myself.

Religious influences still had no hold on me. Revival
meetings were held that winter. Far from showing any
interest in them, another lad and I decided to have some

22 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

fun. We went into the meeting house unobserved, took
all the candles, tunneled small holes into them at in-
tervals, and filled them with powder. In the evening,
during the meeting, as the candles burned, there was a
small, sizzling explosion occasionally; the light went
out by the force of it. It worried the deacons. No one
had any peace that night. Those in power wished they
knew who played this trick and regarded us two lads
with suspicion. But we took care to look innocent.

Spring came, and again I joined the surveying party
on an expedition to Minnesota. Work this year was
between Lake Pippin and Cannon River. My chief knew
that I had been at school during the winter and lost no
time in giving me a chance to apply my knowledge. He
brought out a compass, put it into my hands, told me
what to do, and ordered men to go with me as chain-
men, carrying axe and spade. I accepted the compass
with fear and trembling and started out to do as I had
been told. On our return to camp in the evening I re-
ported to the chief, and he was pleased. He saw that
he could trust me. The camp was divided into two
companies; the chief worked with one of them, while
he placed me in charge of the other, with about six men
under me, all much older than I. We camped together,
but every morning we separated and did not meet again
till evening. For several weeks I gave a minute ac-
count to the chief every evening of what I had done,
and showed him my notebook. Then my daily re-
ports became merely nominal and after a time ceased
altogether. Thus we worked till winter came and we
returned to Iowa.

My family, meanwhile, had made plans for mercantile
business. They wanted to open a general merchandise
store at Strawberry Point, and I was to be store^ceeper.
I was sent to Chicago with a team to buy a small stock

STAKING OUT THE YOUNG WEST 23

of goods. Business was fair and the prospects were
good. But the supposition was that I would take kindly
to work behind the counter. Here my family was mis-
taken. After roaming over the prairies, the confinement
behind that counter was more than I could bear, and
I longed to be free. When spring came nothing could
hold me. The stock of goods was sold at cost, the part-
nership dissolved, and I thought I deserved credit because
I had stayed behind that counter one winter.

Soon I was on my way again to Minnesota with my
former companions and employer. Our field began about
fifty miles north of Minneapolis — a village then. Mr.
Anderson had decided to place more responsibility upon
me. The work of surveying township and meridian lines
he kept to himself; the work of dividing into sections
he gave to me. This necessitated two camps. Often
we did not meet more than once a month. I was only
nineteen years old, not eligible to direct appointment
under the government. I was sworn in as United States
Deputy Surveyor, Mr. Anderson standing between me
and the government. My official certificate served me,
twenty years later, when I wanted a contract from the
Indian Government for digging three miles of canal in
the time of famine, to keep starving Christians alive.
English officials then respected my United States cer-
tificate, and gave me what I wanted.

I was young for so much responsibility, but Mr. An-
derson was always ready to help me. Once I found an
error in the township lines and could not make my work
close. I sent a messenger to him, who had to trace him
and find him in that wilderness. He sent back word to
stick stakes and wait till he came. Another time a
settler, who had a valuable farm site, told me in a per-
suasive manner that if the lines were made to pass along
a certain boundary on his claim, he had one hundred

24 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

dollars in gold to give me. This to a poor young man
was quite a temptation. I knew I could bring the lines
to suit him by just shortening and lengthening the chains
a little. But though religious convictions had no part in
my life at that time, my father's Puritan ideas of honor
and integrity served me well. I refused the hundred dol-
lars in gold and laid the lines with mathematical ex-
actness. Winter overtook us in Minnesota. Snow fell
as we turned homeward, late in November. There were
times when we had to clear the ground before we could
pitch our tent, and then, just outside the tent, we built
a huge fire of logs and kept it up all night. We reached
home in very cold weather.

My chief told me that the work of the following sum-
mer would be in Dakota. The government was receiv-
ing applications from prospective settlers for claims in
that uninhabited portion of the country. Surveyors were
being sent there to divide the land into townships and
subdivide into sections. We were to go where settlers
had not yet penetrated. As there were lakes and water-
courses where our work would lie, the chief advised me
to get the technical knowledge for this branch of sur-
veying. There was a retired teacher of mathematics
settled on a farm not far from my home, and I studied
with him that winter.

I knew when I started for the wild west for the
fourth time that this would be my last campaign; for
I was not willing to look upon surveying as my calling
in life — I wanted to become a lawyer. We pushed for-
ward now, beyond the region where we had done our
previous surveying, and came to the very confines of
civilization. Near St. Cloud — a village then — a squatter
had settled who made it his business to keep a depot of
all kinds of supplies and articles needed by those going
further into the wilderness. We replenished our stock

STAKING OUT THE YOUNG WEST 2$

of provisions and were now ready to move on. Just
then Mr. Anderson was called home to Dubuque on some
business. He left the whole contract in my hands, with
all that pertained to it, telling me to report to him by
letter whenever we found it necessary to send a man
from our camp in the wilderness to the squatter near
St. Cloud for fresh supplies.

We now struck off for the tract which we were to
survey between the Crow River and the Red River of
the North. There were no settlers and no roads; we
had to pick our way through forests and across water-
courses. At times I had to strap my clothes and com-
pass on my back and swim across some river too deep
to ford. It took a week to reach the place where we
could pitch our camp and begin work. We were then
about one hundred and fifty miles away from the nearest
settler. But Sioux Indians and rattlesnakes were all
about us.

During that summer the Indians had murdered forty
settlers near Spirit Lake, Iowa. From Fort Snelling
our government had sent out an expedition to demand
the murderers. The Indians had thus been followed and
overtaken. Part of the tribe were willing the murderers
should go; part were determined they should not go.
Finally they were given up and the soldiers started back
to the fort, but their steps were dogged by hundreds
of Indians, bent on rescue. Our surveying party had
heard of the murder and the expedition, but we did not
know of the outcome. One day, out on the lines, we
heard report of a cannon, repeated five minutes later;
it continued thus all day. We knew that this meant
trouble. After completing our day's work, we returned
to camp and there discussed the situation. Several of
the men were in favor of fleeing to the settlements. This

26 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

was soon voted down, and we determined, if necessary,
to sell our lives as dearly as possible.

We prepared for the night. Our mules were picketed
around our tent, as sentinels. With their acute sense of
smell and hearing, and their fear of Indians, they were
sure to indicate by snorting if there were any approach-
ing, crawling in the long grass. We took turns in re-
maining awake to watch. Revolvers were loaded and
under our pillows. Morning came and we went to our
work. Toward noon a half-breed came riding that way.
He said on the previous day several thousand Indians
had war-paint on, enraged because a soldier had shot
one of the prisoners who was trying to escape. They
wanted to kill the little company of soldiers and rescue
the prisoners. The next step would have been a massacre
of all the surveyors and settlers. The United States
commander withdrew his soldiers to a little knoll, planted
the cannon on top, and gave notice that he would shoot
if the Indians came near. They did come near, but only
blank cartridges were fired at them. This was the shoot-
ing which we had heard the previous day. By night the
Indians had grown tired and had scattered. The half-
breed said if the commander had fired loaded cartridges
just once, not one of us would have escaped death.

We worked hard that summer in Dakota. I enjoyed
my independent position and appeared to be popular with
the men. There were fifteen of them, all older than I.
They used to say among themselves that no matter how
hard Clough made them work during the week, on Sun-
days no one could make him move. Swearing was not
allowed; we tried to live clean lives. No home mis-
sionary ever penetrated as far as our camp. The nearest
church, held in a log cabin, was more than two hundred
miles away. My sister, knowing this, offered me her
little Testament, when I was leaving home for Dakota;

STAKING OUT THE YOUNG WEST 2/

she said it would not take much room in my bag. But
I replied, "You had better keep that for yourself; you
at home may need it more than we out there."

Autumn came, and the work was finished. I sold out
supplies, paid the men and started down the Mississippi
to Dubuque. My chief, though one thousand miles away,
had felt satisfied that our work was well done. I re-
ported to him now, presented my account, and gave back
the money left unexpended. He never looked at the
account and took the money without counting it. During
the six months in Dakota I had spent — for a boy — a mint
of money. I now became a resident in the Anderson
home, and my chief gave me the use of his large study
to write up my field notes for the surveyor-general in
Washington. This took several weeks. My four years
as surveyor thus came to a close. I had been happy
and successful in that calling. It was something which
would be open to me in future. Other work drew me
irresistibly.

in

WORKING THROUGH COLLEGE

The man who had been my chief during- my four
years as surveyor now took an important part in guid-
ing my next step. I had a talk with Mr. Anderson and
he asked about my plans. I told him that I wanted to
go to some good school for at least a year and then to
read law. It was one of my sayings at that time that I
intended to be *'one of the wealthiest men and best law-
yers in Iowa by the time I was forty."

I had money enough on hand to go East and enter
one of the older institutions there. But I had a patriotic
love for Iowa. It had ceased to be a territory and be-
come a state only eleven years previously. I had grown
with its growth. I owned a portion of a farm of rich
Iowa land. I knew that if, later on, I reached out after
a political career, Iowa would offer me all the oppor-
tunities I wanted. Moreover, I was a product of Iowa's
rudimentary system of education. I had attended its
little district schools; I had been in one of its high
schools, soon abandoned because the state was not ready
for such schools. I saw that I must no\v join the sons
and daughters of other pioneer families in an institu-
tion which had a preparatory department as well as a
collegiate course. There was as yet no thought of a
state university. The religious life of the state had
to provide for its higher education. Each denomination

28

WORKING THROUGH COLLEGE 29

represented in the population wanted its own school.
Able professors, called from colleges in the East, were
on the teaching staff of these new institutions. To one
of them I wanted to go. But to which?

There was the point : I belonged to no church ; I felt
allegiance to no religious body. I cared nothing whether
a college was Methodist or Baptist or anything else. Mr.
Anderson said in later years : *'Clough asked me, 'Where
is the best school in Iowa ?' and I answered, Tn Burling-
ton.' " The men who had an intimate knowledge of my
early life said to one another afterwards, *'Clough at
that juncture was passed from one Baptist hand to
another."

My chief was a leading man in the Baptist church at
Dubuque. He never talked with me about religious mat-
ters, but I felt his influence, and he was a good friend
to me. He had a brother who was a prominent min-
ister in the Baptist denomination in the eastern states.
This brother had a classmate and friend in college,
Dr. G. J. Johnson, who, filled with zeal, came to Iowa,
settled in Burlington, and began a Baptist church there.
When he came West he soon met the surveyor Anderson,
who was henceforth included in the friendship of the two
classmates. Dr. Johnson often came to Dubuque, a wel-
come guest at the Anderson home. He never wearied
talking of the first Baptist college in Iowa, which he had
recently helped to found in Burlington. Mr. Anderson
had decided to send his son to attend it. I relied on his
judgment in the matter. I thought what was good for
his son would be good for me. I requested him to write
on my behalf to Dr. Johnson, who was secretary of the
school. The reply came to send me on. The tie of
friendship between three men had thus brought about
one of the most far-reaching decisions of my life.

I went to my home for a few days to tell my par-

30 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

ents of my plans, and brought my trunk. Mr. Anderson
asked me to take charge of his son as an elder brother.
He took us in his carriage to the Mississippi, bought our
tickets and put us on board the *'War Eagle." In bid-
ding me good-bye, he pulled his fine hunter watch out
of his pocket, and handed it to me, saying, "Take this
as a memento of your faithfulness and my affection for
you." Five minutes more and the plank was drawn. I
was off for a new experience in life. This was in the
autumn of 1857.

I knew in a general way that Burlington University, in
which I was now to become a student, had a theological
department. This did not disturb me, for I did not see
how it could affect me. I did not realize till the spirit
pervading the institution had caught me and carried me
with it, that it tended in the direction of helping a man
to become a preacher. In those pioneer days men felt
the call to preach whose education had not gone beyond
the little district schools. They could give a few years
only to their training. Schools like the one at Bur-
lington met their need. These men were full of fervor.
They stood ready, even as students, to labor for the
conversion of any one who was not an avowed, active
Christian. It now happened that I became the roommate
of one of these men.

Mr. Anderson, in his application for his son and my-
self, had requested that a room in the dormitory be given
to us to occupy together. We called on Dr. Lorenzo
B. Allen, the president of the institution, who re-
ceived us very heartily. I was immediately impressed
by the genial kindness of this man and his scholarly
bearing, and became attached to him from the first. The
school year had already begun. He told us with regret
that he could not give us a room together, but that we
each would have to share a room with someone else.

WORKING THROUGH COLLEGE 3I

This did not suit me at all, but I had determined to stay
and to like it, come what might. Dr. Allen took me to
a room in the northeast corner, on the third floor of
the red brick building which served as a dormitory and
for class-room purposes. The room contained just two
hard beds, two plain tables, two hard chairs, a washstand,
a bookshelf, and a stove. He introduced me to my room-
mate, A. D. McMichael, who appeared to be a good, hon-
est fellow. But while I admired his honesty, sobriety,
and manliness I felt that I had no use for his piety.

McMichael had the ministry in view. He was later
for many years a faithful home missionary on the Pacific
Coast. The roommate who had just left him shared his
aspirations, and the two men had formed the habit of
reading a chapter in the Bible and praying together every
night before retiring. It was a disappointment to Mc-
Michael when his roommate's funds ran low and he was
compelled to leave and teach a country school out on
the prairie that winter. No sooner was the vacancy made
than I stepped in. McMichael took it for granted that I
would now join him in reading the Bible and praying, but
there he was mistaken. I told him frankly that I was a
skeptic, but if such was his habit to go right on, and
added, 'T guess I can stand it if you can." I proposed
that we draw a chalk line through the middle of the room,
and that he could pray on his side, while I stayed on
mine. We never drew any chalk mark ; we were both too
hard at work to stoop to such nonsense. But there is no
doubt that in my mind there was a chalk line through the
middle of the room, and I continued busy with my books,
while with half an ear I heard my roommate read his
chapter and mention my name in his prayer night after
night. I felt quite free to say to him that I had no use
for this sort of thing.

I had been in the red brick dormitory only three days

32 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

when a prophecy was passed along the building about me.
There was a student in the institution, J. B. Knight, after-
ward a Baptist preacher on the Pacific Coast, who used to
see visions. When I arrived on a Saturday he was not
in the building; he had gone away over Sunday to preach
in a town on the prairie. Monday, after he returned, he
met me in the corridor and asked, **Are you a new-
comer ?" I replied that I was.

"And have you come here to school?"

"Yes."

He went upstairs and said to his roommate, W. A.
Eggleston, later Baptist pastor in several towns in Iowa
and Minnesota :

"Another Baptist preacher has come to this institu-
tion."

"Do you mean that new man, Clough ?"

"Yes, that is the man."

"Why, that man is not even converted, and he will not
hesitate to tell you that he does not pretend to be a Chris-
tian."

"It makes no difference," Knight replied, "that man is
a Baptist preacher, and you will know it some day."

I soon found myself in happy social surroundings in
Burlington. The religious life entered into everything.
On Sunday I went regularly to Dr. Allen's Bible class,
in the Baptist Sunday school. He invited me to this when
I arrived. I felt it a courtesy, and could not have re-
fused. He was a spiritually minded man, and I prized
the contact with him as my teacher. I soon became ac-
quainted with Deacon and Mrs. Hawley of the Baptist
church. They opened their home to me. Mrs. Hawley
mothered me. If they talked to me about letting my
skepticism go I did not resent it. Their hospitality was
so genuine.

I found a friend in Alonzo Abernethy, by natural en-

WORKING THROUGH COLLEGE 33

dowment the most scholarly student in the college. Later
we were roommates for about a year. He stood for a
type of sterling Christian character which I thoroughly
respected. He, too, belonged to the Baptist church. Long
years after, when I came home from India to get twenty-
five men and a hundred thousand dollars for the Telugu
Mission, I saw Abernethy standing before me, at the
Iowa Baptist State Convention. Forgetting those who
had gathered about us, I put my arms around his neck
and we held each other thus, both profoundly moved.
He had had the kind of career which I, long ago, thought
possible for myself. He went to the war and rose to the
rank of colonel; he was a member of the Iowa legisla-
ture ; later he was superintendent of public instruction in
Iowa, and was holding important posts.

I had another friend among the students, Addison C.
Williams, a fine fellow, who later became a Methodist
minister in several large towns. His sister was my class-
mate in Greek. I thought highly of them both, and often
went to the Methodist church with them, where they were
zealous workers. Their pastor made me welcome, a
warm-hearted, enthusiastic man. Baptist influences were
round about me, but the Methodists, too, had their hold
on me. What turned the scales ?

The Baptists had a pastor in Burlington whose influ-
ence counted for a good deal. Dr. G. J. Johnson was a
leading man among the Baptist pastors in Iowa and was
a strong personality. He had come West ten years be-
fore when there were not more than a thousand Baptists
in Iowa and only one in Burlington. His church was
now in a flourishing condition. Since he was the origi-
nator, and in one sense the ruling spirit of the college,
it came about as a matter of course that faculty and stu-
dents, almost in a body, came to the services in his
church. I was thus naturally drawn into the circle of

34 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

his influence. I listened to his preaching Sunday after
Sunday, and I heard nothing in the way of compromise.
It was the pure gospel — Christ and him crucified. And
Pastor Johnson held to the old-fashioned idea of conver-
sion as a new birth. He was a staunch Baptist, too;
Baptist teachings and Baptist democratic principles were
dear to him. He expounded them often and fearlessly.
I heard him, and I could not deny that if my skepticism
must go, then here was what I wanted.

A number of weeks passed thus. Then came a change.
I have never told the story of my conversion in detail;
perhaps there is no detail to tell. My friend Abernethy
said in later years that my conversion changed me greatly.
I think he was right. During those first months in Bur-
lington I was keenly alive to the influences surrounding
me. My fellow-students had come out of that same
pioneer life in which I had grown to manhood. Most of
them were rugged in demeanor, some perhaps a little
uncouth in appearance. There was a tendency among
them to take undue interest in the affairs of each other.
Notwithstanding all this, I saw that they had a motive in
life, and thereby stood higher than most of the men
whom I had known among the surveyors. Those relig-
ious convictions, which I had thus far evaded wherever
I came across them, were a dominant factor in their lives.
I realized that active Christian experience could give a
nobility of character which I must share or fall behind.

It all wore on me. The boys noticed that I was not as
light-hearted as when I came. McMichael was stead-
fastly continuing his habit of reading his Bible and pray-
ing at night before retiring. I knew that other men,
teachers and students, whom I was learning to love and
esteem more every day, were doing just as McMichael
was doing. When trying to study while he was praying
I began to feel as if I were showing disrespect to them

WORKING THROUGH COLLEGE 35

all. I had to yield to the pressure. There came an even-
ing when I laid aside my books and joined McMichael.
He and I had not been given to interchange of thought ;
he felt that he was not the one to approach me now. He
went to Pastor Johnson and told him how my resistance
in every direction had given way. Perhaps my conver-
sion had become a solemn responsibility to McMichael.
His earnestness evidently gave Pastor Johnson a feeling
that there was something at stake. I had not come to the
point where I wanted to ask spiritual advice. It was
brought to me unasked.

Pastor Johnson was not an hour in delaying. He
knocked at my door. He found me sitting at my table,
the Bible open before me, looking sad and troubled. He
said to me, *'I am glad, Clough, to see you reading your
Bible ; I hope you are trying to find the way to be saved."
I admitted that I was reading with anxious enquiry. He
told me the promises — "Come unto me, all ye that labor,
and I will give you rest." He prayed with me and urged
me to pray also. A strong faith in Jesus Christ as my
Saviour came into my soul. It has never left me. When
I saw Pastor Johnson again I asked him to baptize me.
In the First Baptist Church at Burlington I was baptized,
February ii, 1858.

During those first weeks after I had entered into Chris-
tian experience, two men came to my room and told me
that they believed God had called me to the ministry.
They went to Pastor Johnson and told him with strong
feeling their conviction that I must preach the gospel.
He was amazed, because he had only recently baptized
me. They wanted him to join them in convincing me of
my duty. I was holding back, and refused to commit
myself.

I had become poor in spirit. I now became poor in
pocket. The financial crisis of 1857 swept away the

36 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

hard-earned money which was to pay for my education.
It was a hard blow to me. I still had land, but that could
not help me. I was what was called *'land-poor." Finan-
cial stability was upset during those years preceding the
war. I was thinking of leaving school and going to
work again as surveyor, or beginning in a lawyer's office.
Pastor Johnson heard of the complete loss of all my sav-
ings. He came to me and said, ''Brother Clough, do not
leave school on account of means. Trust God and us.
Our Education Society will help you." I told him that
I was filled with doubt and indecision. My call to preach
had been heard by others more than by me. Neverthe-
less, it so held me that I felt I must remain and patiently
plod on even with empty pockets, to get the education
needed for the ministry. He saw that I wanted to break
away, find work anywhere, and try to climb up the ladder
of success without a college education. He urged me
to stay.

The Iowa Baptist Education Society never provided
more than tuition and room rent for me. I might have
boarded free of charge in the dining-room of the col-
lege. But I preferred to go half- fed rather than bind
myself thus to a call of which I was not certain. For
months I lived there in Burlington on graham bread, a
little butter and apples. If my health had not been so
sound my privations would have broken me down physi-
cally. There were two hundred miles of rough road be-
tween my mother and me, else she would have sent me
abundant supplies. I said nothing, but some of the pro-
fessors were under the impression that I had not enough
to eat. Professor Marston said to me one day, "Clough,
I have a little work to do about the house, such as sawing
wood, and instead of pay maybe you would come and
take your meals with us regularly." The work was a
mere excuse invented by Mrs. Marston. For a whole

WORKING THROUGH COLLEGE 37

term she thus shielded my pride, in order to make me
feel free to come and eat with them.

All my difficulties from first to last in obtaining an
education in that newly settled state of Iowa no doubt
had their effect in after years, when, amid great draw-
backs and opposition, I tried to provide schools of every
grade for our native Christians in India, and was obliged
always to reckon with their poverty. If I had had easy
sailing myself I might have lacked the patience to take
up that burden in India.

With regard to my studies also the first year or two in
Burlington drew heavily upon my faculty for persever-
ance. On arrival I had to enter the preparatory depart-
ment and recite with pupils much younger than I. Then
I worked in advanced classes and carried double studies.
After about two years I entered the Sophomore year in
college, and then had only regular college studies. I
specialized in mathematics. Surveying still had attrac-
tions for me, and I wanted technical preparation with a
view to the future. But my funds were low, though I
worked for good pay on the farm during the summer va-
cations. Several times I borrowed money from my fam-
ily. When I entered my Junior year I asked Dr. Allen
for work. He gave me two classes to teach in the pre-
paratory department. This brought me an income, but
it took time and strength. Doing double work in some
form year after year began to affect my health, but my
keen interest in athletic sports no doubt helped me retain
a good measure of physical buoyancy.

I engaged in the work of the church soon after I was
baptized. I went into the part of Burlington where the
factory population lived, and the streets were teeming
with children. I went among them and invited them to
come to Sunday school with me. They came, whole
swarms of them, filling the building, but when the super-

38 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

intendent tried to divide them into classes they objected,
and said in that case they would stay away. I was asked
to preach in a mission in an outlying part of Burlington.
I agreed to do this, and had little anxiety for the outcome,
for I was considered a fluent speaker in college, and
especially good at off-hand speeches. I struck out boldly
in my first sermon, and said all I had prepared to say.
But after I had preached only fifteen minutes, my mind
became a blank; I knew of nothing more to say, and
closed the service. I was vexed with myself, and with
those who had asked me to preach. I declared that I
could not and would not become a preacher, and I ad-
hered to this determination for several years.

Nevertheless, it was taken for granted in Burlington
that I would enter the ministry. By a sort of common
consent I was counted among the "divinity students" of
the college. Those two men who since the time of my
baptism were convinced that I was called to preach had
a firm hold upon me. I did not keep them in ignorance of
the undercurrent of my doubts. It made no difference to
them; they were always of the same mind about me.
They knew that to all appearances my chance for success
lay in the direction of my own choice of a calling
in life. But they reasoned with me. I remember on one
occasion they warned me to c^ase contending, lest God
himself interfere, and my plans of becoming a lawyer,
a surveyor, or a politician be upset, thus forcing me into
obedience. I was not in the habit of being afraid — I had
been facing Sioux Indians and rattlesnakes in the wilder-
ness too long to be given to fear. But this danger of run-
ning away from the will of God Almighty concerning
me was a danger which I was afraid to face. I yielded
so far as I could.

There was a good deal of missionary spirit in the Bur-

WORKING THROUGH COLLEGE 39

lington church. Two large maps of the missionary world
were hung one on each side of the pulpit. Pastor John-
son used to say, "Clough had those to look at." He gave
a missionary talk once a month. Then he called Dr. S.
M. Osgood to Burlington for a missionary address. For
some years a missionary in Burma, he was now district
secretary in Chicago for the American Baptist Foreign
Mission Society. On the morning after his address he
visited several of the young men in their rooms at the
college, including my own. I was in the same room
where the chalk marks were proposed, where I was con-
verted, and where I received the call to the ministry.
Now Dr. Osgood came in, and bore himself with the
saintly grace of a messenger, bringing a call to a life's
service. I felt greatly drawn to him. In later years I
loved him, and he showed me a father's affection. I
was reticent ; I did not say much. But when Dr. Osgood
left my room I felt inwardly committed to become a for-
eign missionary.

Meanwhile our nation was hastening toward a crisis.
The Civil War was on us. The news that Fort Sumter
had been fired upon acted as an electric shock. Burling-
ton was close to the Missouri border, slavery and anti-
slavery sentiment ran in close opposition. From our In-
stitute windows we had in full view the Mississippi River,
now dotted with steamers hastening on errands of
war. We could hear the strains of "Yankee Doodle"
played on the calliope, and the cheering of volunteers on
shore. It was impossible to study. Whenever there was
a new call for volunteers from Abraham Lincoln we held
meetings. The professors tried to hold us. They closed
their recitations earlier and talked to us in a sober, mat-
ter-of-fact way. They told us that more men had already
enlisted than there were arms with which to supply them.
They reminded us that we intended to serve God as

40 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

preachers, teachers, or in some such capacity, and that by
the time the war was over our country would have need
of our services. We knew that this was true. Some of
us heeded the advice. Others broke away. Before the
end of the school years 1861-62 some classes were entirely
broken up, others were so small they could not be con-
tinued; there was no graduating class. The school re-
ceived a hard blow through the war.

I went home to my family in Strawberry Point. I was
now going to enlist. Just then an order went forth
that further volunteering in Iowa should be stopped.
Part of the state was sending more than its quota of men,
part was withholding men. A draft was insisted upon as
the only fair way to deal with Iowa. I was not drawn
into the draft net. The people were singing, "We are
coming, Father Abraham, five hundred thousand more,"
and I wanted to go — but this evidently was not to be.

During the long summer vacations spent with my fam-
ily in Strawberry Point I had become acquainted with
Miss Harriet Sunderland, and we were engaged to be
married. She was born in England, came to America
with her parents when a small child and settled in Chau-
tauqua County, New York. She had received a good
primary education, and had attended the high school in
Jamestown, New York. Her brothers lived in Straw-
berry Point. She came West and joined them. Only
twenty-one years of age, she held the position of teacher
in our little town, and gave evidence of much ability in
teaching her pupils, about one hundred in number. One
of her brothers, Jabez Sunderland, was my roommate in
Burlington for a time. He later became a prominent
minister in the Unitarian denomination. I also knew her
brother James Sunderland, who turned to the Baptist
ministry, and afterward for years served our Foreign
Mission Society as district secretary on the Pacific

HARRIET SUNDERLAND CLOUGH (1884)

"She told me

told her of the call to such
to anyone else about this.'

that she felt greatly draivn to the foreign Held. I
I u'ork which I had received. But we said nothing

WORKING THROUGH COLLEGE 4I

Coast. His sister, too, had the missionary spirit. She
told me while we were engaged that she felt greatly
drawn to the foreign field. I told her of the call to such
work which I had received. But we said nothing to any
one else about this. We were married August 15, 1861.

At this juncture my family took an interest in my af-
fairs. Cyrus came to me and told me that they all were
agreed in several points regarding me. One was that
they wanted me to stay away from that war; for they
knew my wholesale fashion of doing things, and were
afraid of my reckless daring. Another was that they
were ready to give me substantial backing if I would go
for my senior year to the Upper Iowa University, which
had recently been founded at Fayette, only twenty miles
away. The aid was not to take the form of money, but
he said if I would settle for the year in Fayette, letting
our sister Vina be one of our party, they would supply
us with everything we needed. They would send a
wagon with furniture, and have a hand in the rent bill.
Another wagon load was to supply us with wood for
fuel, and abundant produce of the farm for our cupboard.
It was a scheme which was kindly meant and was prac-
ticable. We three students accepted the offer, and our
family kept their word.

We had a happy, profitable year. My sister entered the
regular course and some years later graduated from this
institution. Mrs. Clough eagerly used the opportunities
offered her. I joined the senior class. Fayette was a
quiet place, yet here, too, the war spirit was manifest.
The students of this institution had as yet stayed to-
gether. The men were back for the fall term, but there
was tension. They never knew whether they were com-
ing to their classes the next day or not. In the spring of
the year, after Fort Sumter had been fired upon, they had
formed a company and were ready. Finally nothing

42 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

could hold them; they left for the seat of war. The
senior class had numbered nineteen. Only two men were
left, Mr. Jason L. Paine and myself. We called on the
professors together to ascertain whether under the cir-
cumstances they would continue their instruction. It
was the first graduating class of the institution and it
was decided that the instruction should be given as if the
whole class had remained.

The professors were able men; several of them were
graduates of Yale University. President Brush took
President Allen's place in being my friend as well as my
teacher. Twice a week he let me come to his study and
recite to him privately on two subjects which 1 needed to
complete my course. They were of a philosophical na-
ture, and the contact with the learned professor without
the restraint of the classroom was an inspiration. There
is scope for conjecture as to whether my career would
have shaped itself differently if the Upper Iowa Univer-
sity had opened one year earlier, and if I had gone there
in the first place. Baptist preachers went forth in un-
usual numbers from Burlington. United States senators
and men of political career are among the alumni of
Fayette. For one who intended to be a lawyer and a
politician it would have seemed the more suitable choice,
and it is very probable that I would have become a Meth-
odist under the influences prevailing there.

The day of graduation came June 26, 1862. President
Brush preached the baccalaureate sermon from Romans
14 :7 — *'For none of us liveth to himself, and no man
dieth to himself." Preachers, lawyers, doctors, and many
who had an interest in the students had come from vari-
ous parts of upper Iowa in wagons and buggies; for
there was not yet a railroad. The program of the com-
mencement exercises was a lengthy one. Mrs. Clough
participated in the occasion by reading an essay. The

WORKING THROUGH COLLEGE 43

subject for my graduating oration was "Skepticism in
its Relation to Philosophy."

My college diploma, giving me the degree of Bachelor
of Arts, was in my hand. But I was now no longer free
to go forth and use my college education for the career
which I wanted. I felt bound over in mind and in spirit
to a career which was not of my choosing. As I look
back I think it all had to be that way. The Lord
Jesus was shaping my course, and he makes no mistake.

IV

THE CALL OF THE FAR EAST

In an unsettled frame of mind I now faced the ques-
tion as to what was to be the next step. The desire to
go to the war was again uppermost. There was great
demand for nurses at the front : the wounded were many,
and those who were there to attend them were over-
burdened. Mrs. Clough wanted to go with me. Our ap-
pHcation to the surgeon-general at Washington was
favorably received. When he learned, however, that
Mrs. Clough was only twenty-four years of age he re-
plied that she was too young for duties of so harrowing
a nature, and declined to entertain the proposition
further. This was a disappointment to us.

Then there was the question of my going to a theo-
logical seminary. I remember that several men urged
me to make definite preparation for the ministry. But I
felt no pressure of duty at that time to preach. The only
call which, to me, had been plain and emphatic was the
call to the foreign field. It now occupied my mind and
crowded out the old ambition to become a lawyer. I said
nothing of this to any one, for I did not feel that the time
had yet come for me to make a decisive move in that
direction. : I was waiting for further indications.

Meanwhile we accepted an offer to teach the public
school at Colesburg, Iowa, for one year. There were one
hundred and fifty children. Mrs. Clough presided over

44

THE CALL OF THE FAR EAST 45

the primary department and I had all the rest. The peo-
ple of this town of about fifteen hundred inhabitants be-
came greatly attached to us. Our popularity made me
uneasy; it became a warning voice to me. Whenever
there was fresh indication of it the words rang in my ear,
"Woe unto you when all men shall speak well of you."
1 was followed everywhere by these words, and they were
powerful enough to make me feel that I was not in the
right place. I never forgot how it felt. In later years,
in Ongole, when I knew that there was plotting against
my life, and when criticism against my work was crop-
ping up right and left, I told myself that it was better to
endure this than bear the warning of those words : "Woe
unto you when all men shall speak well of you."

Once more the temptation came to engage in politics,
and perhaps take up surveying again. I entered eagerly
into the contest of electing county and state officers that
year. The fifteen delegates from Colesburg had made
me their foreman when we went to the convention called
by the Republicans of our county. There was intense
excitement among the one hundred delegates who were
present, but Colesburg came out ahead. Several Coles-
burg men were nominated to various county offices, and
one to a seat in the House of Representatives. Later,
when the county surveyor was to be nominated, some one
proposed my name. I'hen the delegates from the other
parts of the county rose almost in a body and protested.
They claimed that through my exertions Colesburg had
already put men into office in almost everything, and that
they could not allow any more. I could not work for
myself. Another man was elected county surveyor.

Ten years later I was given a key to the understanding
of that incident in my life. I had been in India and had
returned to Iowa during my first furlough. During the
meeting of some association I met Dr. J. Y. Aitchison,

46 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

a man much respected among the Baptist ministers of the
state. We were driving together some distance in a
buggy. He asked me whether I remembered that politi-
cal convention, and added, "That was a turning point in
your career." He told me that he was present in that
convention; he saw how I controlled it, compelling the
men to do as I advocated. My career in Burlington was
known to him ; he recognized the temptation that lay in
my capacity for a political career and feared that I
would be lost to the ministry. Therefore, as he sat there
unobserved he prayed with all his might for my defeat.
He rejoiced when the tide turned against me, and went
home and gave thanks to God.

However, this turn in affairs increased my previous
restlessness. I felt I could not teach school longer. Our
fourth term was coming to a close; I offered my resig-
nation to the directors, to take effect immediately. They
came in a body and asked me to reconsider, and to name
the salary I wanted. I told them I must go. The leading
man among them, who had recently obtained a seat in
the House of Representatives, largely through my instru-
mentality, came to me again later and urged me to name
my salary, but not to go away. He was a good man, a
Methodist class leader. I felt he would understand my
motives. I told him about my restlessness, about my
feeling that I was not in the right place. Tears came into
the man's eyes. He said, "Mr. Clough, this is of God.
You will have to go."

I wrote to my friend. Pastor Johnson, and told him
that I found myself unable to settle down to work, and
that I felt no distinct call to anything. He advised me
to accept an appointment as colporter, and to work at
this till I found something I really wanted to do in life.
He, too, had recently made a change. He had become
district secretary of the American Baptist Publication

THE CALL OF THE FAR EAST 47

Society, a position which he held for many years. He
often spoke of it afterward, that his first official act in
this position was to get an appointment for me as col-
porter in northern Iowa, where I was well known. It
seemed to him always that I made the right move at that
time. The hand-to-hand labor among the people in
northern Iowa prepared me for the village visiting in
India. Books and calling made an excuse for entering
any home and speaking to any person. I had become
part of the aggressive Christian force which was at that
time evangelizing the wide West. No one went with me
to initiate me. I had printed instructions from the Pub-
lication Society to guide me in my work. The methods
here formed were later carried to India. I made it a
point to hold meetings in farmhouses, to which neighbor-
ing farmers came. After my first tour through the terri-
tory assigned to me the people looked forward to those
meetings. They missed my coming when I resigned to
go to India. Many said, "What is that for ? We do not
want you to go. Let some one whom we do not like go
to those heathen."

I was happy in my calling as colporter, but I knew all
the time that I was working my way through a tran-
sition period. The feeling that the time would come
when the way would open to go to the foreign field never
left me. Mrs. Clough had a similar feeling. During
that year we received what was to us a tempting offer for
change of service. The principalship of a collegiate in-
stitute was offered to me at twice the salary which I was
receiving as colporter. We considered the offer. The
work would have been far more congenial. We decided
that we must decline, lest I oppose my sense of duty and
get into the wrong place again.

Something now occurred which formed a stepping-
stone. I heard that Dr. William Dean, the pioneer mis-

4? SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

sionary among the Chinese in Bangkok, Siam, who was
then in the United States, would address a convention in
Davenport, Iowa. I went there. I Hstened to Dr. Dean's
appeal for an assistant. I wanted to go with him. But
I said nothing to any one, nor did I seek an introduction
to Dr. Dean. A strange hesitancy held me. I had given
up my ambition for a career as lawyer and politician and
surveyor. Yet the steps which I was taking toward the
call to which I had rendered obedience in secret were
weak and halting as those of a child. I began now to
seek counsel with men who had won my confidence. I
sought to gain strength thereby and found it.

At some association meeting I met Deacon Giles
Mabie, inventor of an American reaper. He was travel-
ing over northern Iowa in behalf of the Iowa Baptist
Education Society. We decided to go together. While
driving along tedious roads over the prairies in our buggy
we talked about many things. The deacon listened to
my experience of the past five years, which had cul-
minated in my desire to go to Siam with Dr. Dean. He
said, "That is all plainly a call from God." He had
recently been in London and had heard Charles H. Spur-
geon in the first sudden springing forth of his power as
a preacher. He was on the alert for something similar in
my case. It filled him with enthusiasm and I caught it
from him. He judged of me correctly: I needed more
self-confidence. He saw that a little honest praise would
do me good; he even said flattering things to me, and
they did me no harm. When he went his way, and I
went mine with my books, my outlook was plainer be-
fore me, and my courage had risen. The good deacon
lived to be ninety years old. The tidings from the Telugu
Mission always stirred him : he felt he had had a hand in
it. His nephew, Henry C. Mabie, from the time the
deacon and I rode over the prairies together, heard him

THE CALL OF THE FAR EAST 49

speak of me. It formed his first direct contact with
foreign missions. Thirty years later the nephew and I
stood side by side in a great work for foreign missions in
our denomination.

In my itinerary I went to Dubuque and there met Rev.
John Fulton, busy purchasing lumber for the church he
was building in Independence, Iowa. I knew the lumber
yard where he was picking out his wood, and went there.
We sat down on a pile of lumber, with the good, strong
odor of it surrounding us, and talked. He grew enthusi-
astic. "Why, of course," he said, ''that is of God !" He
was personally acquainted with Dr. Jonah G. Warren,
secretary of the Baptist Foreign Mission Society, and
offered to write to him. He did so, and if he failed to
pick out much lumber for his church that morning he
helped to pick out a workman for India. I also met
Elder Asa Chapin, who had been pastor in the East, and
knew several members of the Executive Committee. The
two encouraged me, and wrote to the Committee, calling
their attention to me. The letters written by these men
formed my introduction to Dr. Warren. He heard of
me in my humble calling as colporter. It was the begin-
ning of a strong allegiance that held us till death.

In order to be in time for the Baptist Anniversaries,
held in May, 1864, in Philadelphia, I sent to Dr. S. M.
Osgood, the man who came to my room in college and
brought me the call to the foreign field, my application
to be sent to the foreign field as assistant to Dr. Dean. I
also wrote to Dr. Johnson, the man who baptized me, and
asked him to give his commendation as my pastor.
Through these two men my application was sent to Dr.
Warren, and the matter was laid before the Executive
Committee.

While everything was still pending I went to Chicago
to attend a "Ministers' Institute." Many of the ministers

50 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

then in the West had received Httle theological training.
They eagerly came, at least one hundred of them, to this
Institute every summer to study portions of the Bible and
attend lectures. The man who presided over it. Dr. Na-
thaniel Colver, was one of the leading men of the denomi-
nation. He, too, had not been a student in a theological
seminary. He was called a giant of Calvinistic faith. I
came under the spiritual influence of the man during
those weeks. Of my studies in the Institute I remem-
bered little afterwards. What remained with me and
served me was the pattern of such a school. For six
years, out in India, during the hot weather, I called the
native preachers together into Ongole, and taught them
after the pattern given me by Dr. Colver. Thus did I
train the men who were to be my fellow-workers when^
thousands were baptized.

Meanwhile summer had come. It was harvest time,
and there was great abundance that year. Many of the
men had gone to the war ; women and children helped in
the fields, almost day and night. No one could take time
to look at books or buy them. I took a month's leave
from colportage and engaged to work in the harvest at
three dollars per day and board — better wages than the
missionary society offered. I was standing on a four-
horse reaper, raking off the heavy grain, fifteen acres per
day, when a man came bringing me a letter from Dr.
Warren, with an invitation to come to Boston and meet
the Executive Committee. I left the rich harvest on
Iowa's farm and turned my face toward the harvest wait-
ing in India. Only Mrs. Clough and one or two others
knew why I was going East. I thought I might not be
accepted. Moreover, if my brothers had known, they
would have done their utmost to keep me from my pur-
pose.

I met the Committee August 2, 1864, sunburned, my

THE CALL OF THE FAR EAST 5 1

hands hard and brown with harvesting. I had a slight
surveyor's stoop. My black alpaca coat was country cut.
Yet Dr. Warren received me with all kindness, and I felt
at home with him at once. From the time of my first
meeting with Dr. Warren I felt that I could do anything
this man asked of me. Nothing ever changed this feel-
ing.

Dr. Warren took me into his room, where he had his
desk and his papers. There he talked with me for about
an hour. When I came out of the room I was committed
in mind to becoming a missionary to the Telugus. I had
applied to be sent with Dr. Dean to Siam. Another man,
meanwhile, had filled that place. He died after one year
on the field. Yet, but for him, I might have been sent to
Siam. This was evidently not to be. I do not know
what gave Dr. Warren the idea that I might be a suitable
man for the Telugu Mission. There were other vacan-
cies. I had been reading the Baptist Missionary Maga-
zine for some years, but the Telugu Mission had not
attracted my attention specially.

Dr. Warren now told me briefly what its history had
been. He did this with a touch of personal reminiscence;
for he had known every man prominently connected with
it. Far back, when he was a student in Brown Univer-
sity, the Rev. Amos Sutton, a missionary of the English
Baptist Society, occupied the pulpit one Sunday. He
came from the Oriya country, just north of the Telugu
country. His wife was an American, the widow of one
of the missionaries of Judson's party. He urged Ameri-
can Baptists to found a mission in the Telugu country.
This was in 1835. His plea was granted. The following
year the Rev. Samuel S. Day was sent to the Telugus.

The story of the twenty-eight years which followed was
a story of much holding on by faith. Only four mis-
sionaries and their wives had been in service : Day, Van

52 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

Husen, Jewett, Douglass. The society gave two men to
this mission during the first ten years, one during the
second decade, and one at the beginning of the third.
The converts were gathered one by one. The mission
still had only the one station at Nellore, and a church
membership of about thirty.

Three times the question was brought forward at the
annual meeting of the society, whether this mission
should be continued or not. These three attempts at
abandonment were all within the period of Dr. Warren's
connection with the society — as secretary since 1855.
No one can measure the spiritual strength with which
he supported that feeble Telugu Mission, and clung to
it tenaciously, when others sought to let it die. The
Baptists had no other mission so forlorn, so nearly given
up. To this they sent me.

The third attempt at abandonment had been made just
recently. Two years before, at the Anniversaries, in 1862,
there was a majority who believed that abundant time
had been given the Telugu Mission to show results.
Since these were not considered adequate there were
urgent demands that the mission be discontinued. Dr.
Warren sat on the platform. As he listened while men
were dealing heavy blows in the work of overthrow he
said to himself, "Surely the end of the Telugu Mission
has come." He had tried to keep silence, but when the
vote was about to be taken, and he knew it meant death
to the mission, he could not endure it. He rose and ex-
claimed, "Wait, brethren, wait! You know not what
you are doing. Wait, let us hear what Brother Jewett,
who is now on his journey home, has to say on this sub-
ject." He said no one afterward could report the speech
he then made, as it fell from his lips. Neither could he
himself have told what he said. The mission was saved,
and he was filled with faith in it.

THE CALL OF THE FAR EAST 53

Dr. Warren asked me what I thought about going to
that mission. I was deeply interested. But I felt right
there in Dr. Warren's room that it would not be pos-
sible for me to hold on year after year without visible
result. I was not a man of faith — action was more in
my line. I was willing to go out and try. If I found
that I could not work a change I would make up my mind
that I was in the wrong place, and must go elsewhere.
Dr. Warren told me that my active disposition was in
place. He spoke to me of Dr. Jewett, whom I had not
yet seen. The foundation for the strong sense of fellow-
ship in work, which held Dr. Jewett and me for many a
year, was laid there in Dr. Warren's room.

I came before the Executive Committee that day, and
told them of my conversion and my call to the foreign
field. They asked me whether I felt drawn to any special
country. I replied, *'No, I am ready to go wherever I
am needed most." I was requested to retire to Dr. War-
ren's room. A few minutes later Dr. Warren came in
and said, ^'Brother Clough, the Executive Committee
has appointed you a missionary of the American Bap-
tist Foreign Mission Society, and designated you to the
Telugus, to work in connection with Dr. Jewett. And
now can you sleep?"

Less than two years previously Dr. Jewett, soon after
his arrival in America, had sat in that room facing the
Executive Committee. They proposed to him the re-
linquishment of the Telugu Mission. They found him
immovable. His faith told him that *'God has much peo-
ple among the Telugus." He had labored among them
for fourteen years, and declined to be transplanted to
some other field. He meant to live, and if need be to die,
among the Telugus. It is said that Dr. Warren smiled
then and answered, "Well, brother, if you are resolved to
return, we must send some one with you to bury you.

54 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

You certainly ought to have a Christian burial in that
heathen land."

As I was the man elected to go with Dr. Jewett, they
wanted to test my mettle. They said to me, "Suppose in
view of the financial depression, we should have to decide
not to send you to the Telugus, what would you do?" "I
should have to find some other way of getting there,"
was my reply. I knew almost nothing about the Telugus.
I was only dimly aware of the fact that I was being sent
to a "forlorn hope." Yet I was unwilling to abandon the
Telugus to whom I had only just been appointed.

AROUND THE CAPE TO INDIA

When I left Boston after receiving my appointment to
the Telugu Mission, there was no prospect of an early-
departure to India. Funds were low in the mission treas-
ury. On account of the war the usual gifts to foreign
missions were not forthcoming. We were to wait a year.
I went back to Iowa and stood again on the four-horse
reaper, pitching ofT the golden grain, when a telegram
was brought to me from Dr. Warren. The Committee
had changed their plans. We were to settle our affairs
and be ready soon to sail with Dr. Jewett.

Dr. Warren knew that I wanted to go to a theological
institution while waiting. He wrote consoling me : "You
have a collegiate education, and the theological knowl-
edge which you require you will have time to pick up
after you reach your station." I have often wondered
whether to be glad or sorry because I was never a stu-
dent in a theological seminary. It was not to be, evi-
dently, in my case.

My silence was now at an end. My family and friends
heard of my appointment. My brothers were highly in-
censed : "You have thrown yourself away ! You must
be insane." Even my sister Jane felt that her hopes con-
cerning me were being frustrated. Sister Vina was in
full sympathy with us. She told us she was coming
some day to join us. She did come. My father had died

55

56 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

two years before. I felt deeply his absence from the old
homestead. My mother was cheered by having us with
her during the first years of her widowhood. Mrs.
Clough, with Allen, our son, born in Colesburg, had
stayed with her while I was going about as colporter.
Now we were to leave her. She never objected. When
the time came for me to go she said, *'l am glad I have a
son thought worthy to be a missionary, but I tell you,
my boy, it is hard to give you up." She stood in the door
of the old homestead, quite calm, looking after us as we
drove away. I turned and looked back several times, and
never forgot the image of her as she stood there. Sister
Jane told me many years later that mother, after watch-
ing till we were out of sight, went out into the dooryard
and cried so loud, wringing her hands, that her crying
was heard across the fields over at Cyrus' house. He
came and tried to bring her in and comfort her, but she
refused to be comforted.

At that time, fifty years ago, missionaries were few.
It was an event in the religious life of a state when some
one was willing to leave home and go to the other side
of the earth for Christ's sake. Little was known of
Asiatic countries and the conditions there. Compared
with the rapid, comfortable travel of the present day, it
was a formidable undertaking to go on a voyage of four
months.

When the leading Baptists of Iowa heard of our ap-
pointment and early departure they were stirred. Every-
body wanted a hand in it. At the state convention, soon
after, a committee volunteered to help in the outfit, since
time was so limited. My ordination was to be held in
the church in Burlington, where I was baptized nearly
seven years before. A committee of arrangements was
formed ; Dr. Allen was its chairman. Three weeks before
the appointed time an invitation was sent ta all the Bap-

AROUND THE CAPE TO INDIA 57

tist churches in Iowa and neighboring- states. It was to
be a foreign missionary mass meeting; those planning
to come were to notify the committee of their intention,
and free accommodation was to be offered to all who
thus came. It lasted two days, November 19 and 20,
1864. On the first day was my examination, and in the
evening a missionary sermon from Dr. Nathaniel Colver.
On the next day, a Sunday, was the ordination service,
followed in the evening by a missionary conference.

An able council came to the ordination. I was fully
aware of my lack of theological training, but determined
to tell the council what I knew. There was present Dr.
Allen, the teacher and friend of my college days; Dr.
Osgood, who had brought me the call to the foreign field ;
Dr. Aitchison, who sat in the political convention a little
more than a year before. There was Dr. Nash of Des
Moines, Iowa, and Dr. J. A. Smith of the Standard of
Chicago; and there was Dr. Nathaniel Colver, the great
Baptist preacher, who knew better than any one else there
that they were sending me to a "forlorn hope," for twice
— perhaps three times — he had been at the anniversary
meetings when the fate of the Telugu Mission hung in
the balance, and it was saved.

Dr. G. J. Johnson had come from St. Louis to be pres-
ent at the ordination of his *'son in the faith." He gave
me the hand of fellowship. Long years after he told me
that this was a great moment in his life. Fifteen years
had passed since his own ordination. Even as a student
he had felt the call to the foreign field. He always wanted
to go, but circumstances prevented him. The doubt
made him restless. Now, as he stood on the platform
during my ordination, it came to him almost as a voice
from heaven: "He has gone in your stead; you are re-
leased !" Never again did he have a disquieting thought;
his duty seemed to be fulfilled through me.

S8 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

Before the service was over a telegram came from Dr.
Warren asking Dr. Allen to send us on at once. We
decided that we must take the first eastbound train
early the next morning. Our outfit, prepared by the Bap-
tist churches in Iowa, was nearly ready to be packed. It
had to be left behind. The Mississippi was running with
floating ice. There was no bridge. If the ice were to
close there would be no way of crossing. Early the next
morning we took the ferry boat. It was cold, and there
was some risk, but a number of friends and brethren were
there to cross with us, and see us off at the railway sta-
tion. The Baptists in Iowa sent us to India with warm
hearts. They did not cease to stand by me during my
missionary life.

We arrived in Chicago in the evening. Dr. Colver and
Dr. Osgood had come with us. We had only an hour to
wait for our train, and were then to go on alone. One of
the most important events of my life now happened. The
presence of those two men of God with us all day had
seemed to bring us to a Mount of Transfiguration as we
talked together. Our train was ready. Dr. Osgood had
placed Mrs. Clough and Allen on board. Dr. Colver
and I stood outside near the steps. The first gong had
sounded; it was nearly time for the next. Then, as if
moved by some powerful impulse, Dr. Colver took both
my hands in his. In his impressive way he said, ''Brother
Clough, I believe that God from all eternity has chosen
you to be a missionary to the Telugus. Go nothing
doubting. Remember that you are invulnerable until
your work is done." With this he handed me up the
steps, the train started, and we were off. I had received
a benediction that was far more than a benediction. The
strong feeling which I was to cherish for many years, that
I was an ambassador of Jesus Christ to the Telugus, was
here born into conscious conviction. The assurance that

AROUND THE CAPE TO INDIA 59

I was invulnerable until my work was done stayed by
me, all through, like a sword of fire. It was a spiritual
anointing given by one who had the power to give it.
It was received in all humility. The effect remained.

We had only two days in which to reach Boston. A
heavy snowstorm in western New York delayed us.
Trains were not on time. When finally we arrived in
Boston, Dr. Warren stood there waiting for us. I asked
hurriedly, "Is the ship here yet ?" Answer : "The crew
ran away last night, and are not back yet, hence you are
safe at least another day." Shipping was disorganized
by the war. Men wanted to enlist. Our ship was a mile
from shore. When the crew began to come back police-
men watched every boat that went to it, to keep the crew
from running away again. Portions of our outfit ar-
rived by express. The rest reached us in India.

We now met Dr. Jewett. He had to leave wife and
children behind and go out alone. The farewell meeting
in Tremont Temple was held in a small audience room,
and even that was not full. The war occupied the minds
of people. Besides, we were going to a "forlorn hope,"
a mission that had nearly been given up. The time to sail
was set several times. Finally, on November 30, 1864,
the James Guthrie weighed anchor, not to touch shore
again for nearly four months.

Few ships sailed to India at that time. We were in
some danger. Ours was a northern ship, and our cap-
tain had reason to fear the Alabama, the famous south-
ern privateer. Whenever a ship came in sight he hoisted
the Union Jack instead of the American flag. I ventured
to remonstrate against this sailing under false colors, to
which he replied, "Would you rather have Captain
Semmes come and run out a plank and ask you to walk
out on it?" He was a Swede, and did not sympathize
with me when I told him I was an American, who did not

6o SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

fear Captain Semmes or the whole Confederacy but
wanted to sail under true colors.

Our hardships on this voyage were many. It was a
ship of eight hundred tons, loaded with ice, lumber, and
apples. We were the only passengers. The supplies on
board were wholly inadequate. We ate corn meal mush
and molasses mostly, and were glad the potatoes held out.
The captain was not sufficiently in sympathy with us to
seek our comfort.

Time dragged heavily. I had a number of books of a
theological nature with me, and was reading them. Dr.
Jewett and I held preaching services for the sailors, and
the men were interested in the tracts I gave them. Mrs.
Clough, though often not well, sang hymns at our meet-
ings, to which we all were glad to listen. My diary tells
of a morning, early, when the captain called me on deck.
One of the men had fallen from the main top yard, and
lay there with bones broken. We had to set them and put
him in his bunk. This increased the gloom. When near-
ing Ceylon we were overtaken by a severe cyclone. For
several hours it seemed as if our ship was not of a kind
or size to weather the storm. But we came through.

We gave an account of our hardships in our first letters
to Boston. It grieved Dr. Warren. He wrote us a joint
letter in which he said :

**Your dreadful protracted sufferings cannot be avoided,
they cannot be alleviated ; would that they could be. May
we all be admonished to constant vigilance lest others suffer
in like manner. I feel for you all; my deepest, tenderest
sympathy is moved for Mrs. Clough and the little boy.
My heart has ached for them, and now it would be a relief
if I could bear part of the pang."

Many an hour Dr. Jewett and I sat on deck together,
busy with our thoughts. Sometimes we fell to talking.

AROUND THE CAPE TO INDIA 6l

Our main topic was the Telugfu Mission. Dr. Jewett
never wearied of this. I was an eager Hstener. My ap-
pointment and early departure had been so sudden that
I needed to adjust myself and to learn something of the
mission to which I was going. I took the first lessons in
my apprenticeship. Mr. Day had thus told Dr. Jewett
what had been done during the first twelve years of the
mission. He now passed this on to me, and with it all
that lay within the sixteen years of his own experience.-
Later I formed a link with the past to many a new man ;
for I loved to talk of the old days.

I always had a good deal of respect for Rev. Samuel
S. Day, the founder of our mission. He was at home in
Canada at this time. I never met him. A man of perse-
verance, with a level head, faith in God, and faith in the
work given him to do, he had the qualities that go to
make the founder of an enterprise. His choice of Nel-
lore as the first station of our mission could not have
been better. It formed a good basis for operations. He
decided on this in 1840 after working in several other
places for four years. Scarcely had Mr. Day settled in
Nellore when he began to look in the direction of Ongole,
a town seventy-four miles directly north of Nellore, and
as yet wholly unoccupied by missionary enterprise. He
went there on tour in 1841, and when he returned he said
to his wife, "Ongole will in time make the great center
of our mission, if only we can occupy it." She remem-
bered it, and afterward told her children about it. Dur-
ing those early years another mission, further north,
was founded. Ongole was about midway between the
two missions. One cool season the two founders of the
two missions met while touring. They pitched their
tents together and exchanged neighborly courtesies. In
talking of many things connected with their work they
also discussed the occupancy of Ongole. Both founders

62 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

wanted it. Mr. Day had been there first and had prac-
tically occupied it as an outstation of Nellore. He quietly
insisted he must keep Ongole. The other man gave in;
he said, "There are other places; if you Baptists want
to begin a mission here I will go elsewhere." If Mr. Day
had taken a different course, and had extended his work
in another direction, the whole subsequent history of our
mission would have been changed. Knowing how he
had laid the foundations, no wonder that he could not
give up the Telugu Mission.

After ten years of labor the time came for Mr. Day to
go to America with his family. Only one man had been
sent to join him in his labors. Rev. S. Van Husen, in
1840. After five years, broken in health, he and his wife
returned to America. When now Mr. Day had to
leave the field there was no one to take his place. He
placed responsibility upon two Eurasians, to keep up the
Sunday services, to care for the schools, and teach in-
quirers. They had done good service while he was there
to direct them. They soon proved untrustworthy. All
that had been built up was laid waste. Those two years,
1846-8, were the darkest years in all the history of
the mission. And those were the years when the priva-
tions of the pioneer life of my parents pressed me sorely.
The lack of opportunities made life dark to me. In look-
ing back it seems the Telugu Mission and I kept pace
together. Born in the same year, oppressed by poverty
during the same years, prosperous together, making de-
cisive moves at the same time — our lives were knit to-
gether from the beginning.

After two years in America, with health restored, Mr.
Day asked to be sent back to India. Rev. Lyman Jewett
was under appointment, and was to go with him. At the
annual meeting of 1848 the question was raised why this
feeble mission should be continued — why not send these

AROUND THE CAPE TO INDIA 63

two men to some other more promising field ? Mr. Day-
plead for the life of his mission. He knew his flock was
scattered, and sorrow awaited him in leaving his wife and
children behind in America. Nevertheless, he begged to
be sent back. One of the great men of the denomination
came forward and helped him. Dr. William R. Williams
brought in a report for the committee to which this ques-
tion had been referred. It had for its keynote: ''De-
stroy it not, for a blessing is in it." He was one of the
first to strike the prophetic note on behalf of the Telugu
Mission which afterwards became characteristic.

Dr. Jewett told me he sat during that meeting and lis-
tened as if his own fate were in the balance. He and
Mrs. Jewett went out with Mr. Day. With steady hearts
they took hold. There had been real converts in Nel-
lore, though few in number. They came when Mr. Day
called them back. But it was a sad state of affairs, and
often the Jewetts heard Mr. Day in the solitude of his
own room praying aloud for the Telugu Mission, and
sometimes words ceased and there were groans as if in
travail of soul. Five years more he held out, and then,
with health permanently impaired, he returned to
America.

Now the Jewetts stood alone. Mr. Day had been gone
only a few months, when letters came around the Cape,
telling the Jewetts that an order had almost gone forth
to them to sell the bungalow, say farewell to the little
group of Christians in Nellore and move across to Burma
to work there. A friend wrote, *Tf the society gives up
the mission, what field shall you take up, Jewett?" He
replied, "Then Lyman Jewett will stay and work by him-
self with the Telugus."

A deputation of two men had recently visited the Asi-
atic missions. They had come to Nellore and had re-
ceived an impression unfavorable to the continuance of

64 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

the mission. Therefore they recommended to the so-
ciety that the Telugu Mission be closed and the Burma
missions be thereby enlarged. The Baptists at that time
had few missions, but those few were cherished. None
had made so deep an impression upon the minds of the
people as the missions in Burma. The story of Adoniram
Judson had touched all hearts. As the years passed, and
the Telugu Mission continued to give no evidence of spe-
cial divine favor, the question continually rose to the
surface : Why not abandon this, and concentrate where
success is certain?

A crucial time had now come. At the annual meeting
in Albany, May, 1853, ^^^ report of the deputation was
received. Preliminary work had been done by the Board.
A committee to whom the subject was intrusted recom-
mended that the Telugu Mission be continued and re-
enforced. It was the demand of the hour that the subject
be laid before the society then in session. Part of one
evening was given to discussion. Men wanted oppor-
tunity to speak for or against. It was taken up again
the next morning and concluded in a way wholly beyond
the ordinary. Dr. Jewett treasured everything he had
heard or read about this meeting like so much sacred his-
tory. As he told me about it there on that ship, it stirred
me greatly.

Dr. Edward Bright, in a powerful address, described
how the little group of church members at Nellore would
feel when they learned that American Baptists had aban-
doned them. He was the one who would have to write
the letter to them : it was something he did not care to
face. He walked up and down the platform reiterating
the question, "And who shall write the letter?"

A large map of Baptist missions was hanging over
the pulpit. On one side of the Bay of Bengal was a
thick cluster of stars, representing mission stations in

AROUND THE CAPE TO INDIA 65

Burma. On the other side was just one star, indicating
the Nellore station in the Telugu country. Some one in
the heat of argument pointed to it and called it a ''Lone
Star." There was one in that audience who was touched
by the expression *'Lone Star." He was the man who
gave to the American people their national anthem, "My
Country, Tis of Thee" : Dr. S. F. Smith. Next morning
at his breakfast table Judge Ira Harris asked Dr. Smith's
opinion about the question to be decided at the meeting of
that morning. He took a slip of paper out of his pocket,
on which he had written a poem overnight, and said,
''You have it here."

Judge Harris kept the slip of paper. During the dis-
cussion of the morning, while the fate of the Telugu Mis-
sion was hanging in the balance, he read the six stanzas
to the assemblage with thrilling effect. It was the famous
"Lone Star'' poem.

Shine on, "Lone Star !" Thy radiance bright
Shall spread o'er all the eastern sky;

Morn breaks apace from gloom and night;
Shine on, and bless the pilgrim's eye.

Shine on, "Lone Star!" I would not dim
The light that gleams with dubious ray;

The lonely star of Bethlehem
Led on a bright and glorious day.

Shine on, "Lone Star !" in grief and tears,

And sad reverses oft baptized;
Shine on amid thy sister spheres;

Lone stars in heaven are not despised.

Shine on, "Lone Star !" Who lifts his hand

To dash to earth so bright a gem,
A new "lost pleiad" from the band

That sparkles in night's diadem?

66 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

Shine on, ''Lone Star !" The day draws near
When none shall shine more fair than thou ;

Thou, born and nursed in doubt and fear,
Wilt glitter on Immanuers brow.

Shine on, "Lone Star !" till earth redeemed,

In dust shall bid its idols fall;
And thousands, where thy radiance beamed,

Shall "crown the Saviour Lord of all."

Those who were present said there was that in the
lines, and in the impressive way in which they were read,
that shook the audience, already strung to a high pitch.
Many wept. The Baptists could not have endured it if
their Telugu Mission had been abandoned. It was saved.
Long years after men marveled at this meeting. The
large audience was swayed as by a prophetic impulse.
They seemed to have forgotten that they were debating
the fate of one little mission station. If they had seen
before their eyes the multitude pressing into the Kingdom
in that Telugu Mission in years to come they could not
have been more deeply concerned. Dr. Jewett carried a
clipping of the ''Lone Star" poem around with him in his
pocket wherever he went. It was an anchor to his faith.
He showed it to me. He had cut it out of a New York
paper, that came to him in India, bringing a report of
that meeting. It was at that time a piece of forgotten
history, but he cherished it.

In our talks Dr. Jewett often referred to Ongole. That
place had been to him as the apple of his eye. He had a
compound there, and a bungalow, all waiting, year after
year, for one who should labor there. During his so-
journs at Ongole he had often noticed a piece of land, lo-
cated close to the town, yet a little to one side. It seemed
to him just right for a mission compound. The ruins of a
bungalow were there. It had been the club of a regi-

AROUND THE CAPE TO INDIA 6/

ment stationed at Ongole during the time of the East
India Company. The years had passed, and then there
came a time when the place was made habitable. A sub-
judge of Ongole, who could command the resources of
the place, wanted to build at small expense. He pro-
cured the services of a gang of prisoners to clear away
the cactus, grown man-high, which covered the eleven
acres of land. He received permission to take the stone
from the fort of the Ongole rajah, recently deposed, for
building material. Some teak timber, floated over from
Burma, had been found lying on the beach ten miles
away. It furnished wood for doors and windows. He
now built on the ruins of the old club house. It cost him
little more than the labor. The sub judge lived there,
but was likely to be transferred at any time. Dr. Jewett
wondered how to get hold of this property.

He was on friendly terms with the English officials at
Ongole, and often, when they came to Nellore, they called
on the Jewetts, and took a cup of tea with them. During
a visit of that kind Dr. Jewett told one of them that he
wanted that property for his mission. The man soon
took steps to help him. The subjudge was leaving and
sold it for 1,500 rupees to the English magistrate. He
now sold it to Dr. Jewett's caller, who lost no time in
offering it to the mission at the original low rate.

Meanwhile Dr. Jewett had written to Dr. Warren and
asked for an appropriation for the house. It could not
be granted. But Dr. Warren added a postscript : "Keep
your eye on that house, and remember that you have a
friend in the Indian territory." The Jewetts hired money
from the bazaar at interest and gave their note for the
rest. The house was theirs, bought with borrowed
money. Dr. Jewett now wrote to his school friend be-
yond the Mississippi. He replied, "My dear brother, I
had some of the Lord's money in my hands. I had not

68 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

read more than three lines of your letter before I knew
what to do with it. You asked for seven hundred and
fifty dollars. I send you nine hundred and fifty."

That man, Reuben Wright, was a powerful factor in
those early days of the Telugu Mission. Wholly in the
background, he nevertheless furnished "the sinews of
war." Years before, too poor to continue at school in
Boston, he went to the Far West and made much money.
On a visit to Boston he attended revival meetings. He
began to feel that he must save his soul by giving his
money. Some one took him to Dr. Warren. He said he
wanted to support a missionary. Dr. \yarren read him
a list of names. He came to Lyman Jewett. The man
stopped him, and repeated the name several times, and
added, "I remember his prayers when we were at school
together. Yes, I will take him." Year after year he paid
Dr. Jewett's salary into the treasury. He paid for mis-
sion property. He was interested in Mrs. Jewett's
schools. When at all times Dr. Jewett refused stead-
fastly to abandon the Telugu Mission his confidence was
upheld by the friend God had given him. There was
hard cash there, and with it the faith of the man who
gave it, and of the man and the woman who were doing
the holding on, tenaciously.

I listened to these stories with deep interest. I felt
their power. Then one day Dr. Jewett told me of an ex-
perience which came to him in connection with Ongole.
It afterwards became a story told hundreds of times in
missionary meetings and in print. At that time Dr.
Jewett kept it hidden in his own heart. As yet there was
no fulfillment. Perhaps he began to wonder whether it
did not concern me. It happened a few months after
he heard of the Albany meeting. He was in a frame of
mind for a spiritual uplifting. With wife and children
he had gone to Ongole on a lengthy preaching tour. The

"■ , . . They proposed
to him the relinquishment
of the Telugu Mission.
They found him immoi'-
able. His faith told him
that 'God has much people
among the Telugus.' "

LYMAN JEWETT, D.D.

!#t.r

". . . He left the hill
strongly convinced that the
man for Ongole H'os coming.
I had wanted to be-
come a lazvyer and a poli-
tician .... Did that hill-
top meeting offer any solu-
tion to these peculiar rever-
sals in my life? . . ."

PRAYER MEETING HILL

AROUND THE CAPE TO INDIA 69

end of the year had come. There were some low hills,
close to Ongole. They decided to go up on one of these
hilltops to pray, early the first morning of the new year,
1854. They were five in number, Dr. and Mrs. Jewett,
Nursu, one of the first regular preachers in the mission,
Julia, the first fruit of Mrs. Jewett's school, and Ruth,
another of the early helpers. They sang together; they
prayed together, one after another. Dr. Jewett stood
up and looked over the plain before him, dotted with
villages, perhaps fifty of them in full sight, in the radi-
ance of the dawn. He said, *'As the sun is now about
to rise and shine upon the earth, so may the Sun of
Righteousness arise quickly and shine upon this dark
land." He p>ointed to that piece of ground, all overgrown
with cactus, and asked, "Would you not like that spot
for our mission bungalow, and all this land to become
Christian? Well, Nursu, Julia, that day will come." It
was seven years after that time that the mission property
came into his possession.

The burden on his heart, as he stood on that hilltop,
was the man for Ongole. He told me that by the time he
left the hill he felt strongly convinced within himself
that the man was coming. I confess that this stirred me.
I did not know whether I was that man. No one, as yet,
had said so. I reckoned back. At the time of the meet-
ing in Albany the surveyors came and took me out of my
father's house at a few hours' notice. At the time of
that hilltop meeting I was making my first attempt to get
an education. It was still fresh in my memory how I
had wanted to become a lawyer and a politician, and was
always thwarted in this, and made to go in a direction
which was not of my own choosing. Did that hilltop
meeting ofifer any solution to these peculiar reversals in
my life? The thought filled my mind. In my letters of
the first years in India I often spoke of the "Lone Star"

70 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

Mission ; I referred to "Prayer Meeting Hill," as I called
it. Back there, on that old sailing vessel, with nothing
else to think about, my energies all pent up, I began to
wheel myself into line. I breathed an atmosphere of
faith and expectancy. With all my heart I was ready to
go to work and see some of those hopes realized.

Our ship, after rounding the Cape, came at last in
sight of Ceylon. On a Sunday morning we sighted
Madras. The captain had heard me say I hoped we
would not land on a Sunday. When now we were be-
calmed as we neared the harbor, very difficult of approach
at that time, he feared we would drift ashore, and grew
excited. He attributed the calm to me, and used some
very bad language about missionaries, and declared it
was the last company he would ever have on a ship of
his. His ire subsided when a breeze came and wafted
us into harbor just as the sun was setting. Some fisher-
men came alongside the ship on catamarans with fish for
sale. They were repulsive in appearance. These were
the first human beings we had seen, except at a long dis-
tance, for one hundred and nine days. The contrast was
between Boston and all that that meant to us and the
Hindus, according to their representatives before us. I
confess that I was heart-sick. My enthusiasm was greatly
checked, and for a time I more than half wished myself
back in America.

The next morning, March 26, 1865, a note was
brought on board from a friend of Dr. Jewett, inviting
us to come to his house. His carriage was waiting for
us at the beach. The house was decorated with Ameri-
can flags, and a good breakfast was waiting for us. We
were safely landed.

We tarried in Madras three weeks, and then made the
journey of one hundred and eight miles to Nellore in

AROUND THE CAPE TO INDIA 7I

slow stages. We went in bullock carts, at the rate of
thirty miles a night, staying during the heat of the day in
the rest houses at intervals along the road. We arrived
in Nellore April 22, 1865, in the midst of the hot season,
and received a glad welcome from the native Christians.

VI

MY APPRENTICESHIP AT MISSIONS

Nellore was at this time a town of about 26,000
inhabitants, a center of trade and travel, and the head-
quarters of the chief officials of the Nellore district.
The mission compound with its shade trees and flowering
shrubs was situated on a frequented road on the out-
skirts of the town. Many who passed that way looked
into the thatch-covered chapel close to the road, and
stayed a while to learn about the new religion.

There was a good, substantial mission bungalow, built
by Mr. Day in 184 1. It had been the home of the Jewetts
since 1848. Rev. F. A. Douglass and his wife had joined
them in 1855. They were now the occupants, and were
waiting for our arrival, so that with their children they
might sail for America after ten years of service. This
bungalow became our home, shared with Dr. Jewett.
Mrs. Clough and I eagerly entered into the life and work
of this mission station. We soon felt an interest in the
native Christians, who were thirty in number. There
were inquirers, people who came and went. Children
had been gathered into the school; the promising ones
among them were watched over with much care, in the
hope that they would become useful workers in the mis-
sion. We put our shoulder to the load, ready to carry
our share.

At that time little was known of the Oriental races.

72

MY APPRENTICESHIP AT MISSIONS 73

Christian people took it for granted that the older relig-
ions were wholly bad, and that their scriptures contained
nothing but evil. There was no sympathetic approach,
no feeling that perhaps God had not left himself unre-
vealed to the heathen world. It distressed many thought-
ful men and women in Christian lands to think that the
rest of the world was given over to sin, and that unless
the heathen heard the gospel of Jesus Christ, and accepted
it, they would be eternally lost. This was my opinion, too,
when I went to India. It formed my missionary motive.
I looked upon the Hindus as simply heathen ; I wanted to
see them converted. As the years passed I grew tolerant
and often told the caste people, if they could not, or
would not, receive Jesus Christ as their Saviour, to serve
their own gods faithfully. During my visits to America
I sometimes told American audiences that the Hindus
were in some respects better than they. I told them to
wake up, and be true Christians, or else the Hindus
would come over to America and try to convert the
Americans.

During our stay in Madras after our arrival I was
deeply interested in the missionary situation there. A
number of societies had planted a mission in this large
city, with its teeming population, speaking several lan-
guages. Dr. Jewett knew the group of missionaries in
Madras. We were received with much brotherly spirit.
Men who were afterwards the seniors in their societies
were here, still young, busy forming methods. Some
were engaged in educational work. Once more I was
tempted to turn away from preaching. A large institu-
tion with six hundred students was without a principal.
I was asked whether I would consider an offer favorably ;
it would then be made officially. I told them No, I could
not stay. It was partly loyalty to my society, partly my
feeling that I must preach.

74 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

Though I wanted to become an evangelistic missionary,
I saw no reason why I should not write books and make
translations and do the work of a scholar in the intervals
of preaching. I tried it. I sat over my books, and gave
half an ear to inquirers who came. I made up my mind
that I must give this up. I wanted to preach, and decided
to do it with all my heart and all my strength.

In that formative period of my missionary career I was
full of enthusiasm. Those who knew me then say I dis-
played the greatest faith in expecting the Hindus to
leave their gods and come to Christ. In my prayers I
asked that the whole Telugu country might be converted.
I talked of schemes for converting the people in large
numbers. If difficulties were pointed out to me I made
light of them. I believed the Hindu religion must be
attacked boldly, and thought the older missionaries had
not done this. Existing missionary methods seemed too
slow. I wanted to work a change — to strike out on inde-
pendent lines. Perhaps that was the attitude which the
Lord Jesus wanted me to have. All my schemes and
plans were knocked over when he sent me the Pariahs
in large numbers — after that my methods were made for
me. All I did then was to follow and trust the Lord
Jesus to help me and show me what to do.

I learned much from Dr. Jewett, and was willing to be
guided by him as my teacher. In later years, when
young men were coming and going in Ongole, learning
the ways of missionary life, I sometimes told them that
during my apprenticeship I did everything Dr. Jewett
told me- to do. They laughed at me for this, and said
they had no doubt I tried hard enough, but perhaps with
indifferent success. It is true, however, that Dr. Jewett
taught me the missionary methods which were in general
practice at that time. I never wholly set them aside.
The movement among the Madigas only added new meth-

MY APPRENTICESHIP AT MISSIONS 75

ods, which I was bound to follow, lest I hinder the devel-
opment.

During the first months in Nellore I was much with
Dr. Jewett. I watched his ways of dealing with the na-
tive people. They were beautiful, fatherly ways. The
people loved him. He was eminently meek and gentle
and kind. I was not meek by nature. That I had him
before me as a pattern during that year and a half of
my apprenticeship was one of the blessings of my mis-
sionary life. He sometimes said to me, *Tf we two could
have been mixed together and then divided into halves it
would have been better for us both." He with his meek-
ness was at one extreme, I with my somewhat fiery dis-
position was at the other extreme. The Telugu Mission
had need of us both.

His devotion to his Master, Jesus, was very great. It
is one of the stories still told about him among the de-
scendants of those who knew him, that one day, when he
was preaching in the bazaar to a group of people, a young
Mohammedan took a handful of sand, threw it at him,
and ran away. He brushed the sand away, and beckoned
to the young man, ''Come back, I want to tell you about
Jesus." I suppose this story is true, but it is equally
true that if I had been there that young fellow would
have run much faster and farther than he did. I loved
Dr. Jewett; I could not have allowed any disrespect to
him, not even for the sake of his message. One day
in those early months in Nellore, we went to the riverside
together. People came there toward evening, and he
found an audience. A young man began to dance and
laugh and clap his hands, trying to disturb Dr. Jewett.
I soon could stand no more of that. I walked up near
to that fellow, and next he found himself in the river,
shallow in that place, but the cool water made him sober.

I worked hard all day, learning the Telugu language.

76 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

My teacher was a Christian young man who wanted to
become a preacher. I therefore taught him an hour every
day in Dr. Alvah Hovey's book of theology. When the
sun began to go down we put our books aside and went
for long walks. I had my eyes open then; for it is as
necessary to learn the people as it is to learn their lan-
guage. I began to talk with those we met, learning to
form sentences, and the replies began to sound familiar.
There were places to which we went frequently. People
soon knew us and looked for us. One of these preaching-
places was where four or five roads met. After a time I
noticed that when people came within a certain distance
of me they held their hands to their ears and ran. I said
to my teacher, "Why are they doing thus ?" He replied,
"They believe you are a man sent from God. If they
hear your message they will be held accountable. There-
fore they close their ears and run that they may be as if
they had not heard."

There was a hamlet near Nellore to which we went
often. The place where we stood and talked with the
people was close to the house of a Mala priest, Tupili
Lutchmiah, who went with his idols to thirty villages,
round about, and conducted worship. He was prosper-
ous as a priest. Out of curiosity he came to hear what
we had to say. Then he grew angry; he found himself
believing and realized that the foundations of his life
were tottering. He shut the door of his house and told
his wife not to listen to us. Then, one day, he told me
he wanted to be a Christian, and asked me what he must
do to be saved. I talked with him till dark, and then at
his request left a colporter with him to pray. Two hours
later he sent me word to give thanks to God on his be-
half, for he had found the Saviour. This man was the
first fruit of my labor in India. He was baptized Decem-
ber 24, 1865.

MY APPRENTICESHIP AT MISSIONS 'J'J

Now trouble began. The people to whom he had gone
with his idols to conduct worship feared that without his
ceremonies and invocations calamities would come upon
them; their cattle would die; their crops would wither.
Since he himself was lost to them, they demanded the
idols. He was afraid they would mob his house and
take them by force. He brought them to me to keep
where no one could worship them. Then we were in
danger. The head of the police force heard of this. He
offered to send a constable to guard us. I thought this
unnecessary, but took his advice and stayed in the house
after dark. The trouble passed.

The habits of my life as colporter in Iowa were strong
upon me. I had to adjust myself to the fact that I was
now working in a country where few could read, outside
that privileged class, the Brahmans. I did not wait until
I had a grammatical knowledge of the Telugu language.
I learned by heart in Telugu the verse, "God so loved the
world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whoso-
ever believeth on him should not perish but have ever-
lasting life." With this verse I went out into the streets
of Nellore, before I could say anything else, and wher-
ever I could get a native to stand still and listen to me I
told him this verse. I was continually distributing tracts.
If a man told me, "I cannot read," I asked him to go to
some one who could, and for a small copper coin get the
tract read which I was holding out to him. Tracts be-
came common in Nellore. The merchants used them for
wrapping paper when small quantities of spices were re-
quired. Pieces of tracts thus found entrance into Nel-
lore homes otherwise closed. Some of those tracts hit
the mark : men were saved.

Soon I began to want a tract that would tell the people
my message in my own words. With my Telugu teacher
always at hand, ready to cooperate with me, I wrote one

78 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

entitled ''Where are You Going?" It was direct in its
language, and was a sermon in a nut-shell. Then I
worked on a larger tract, really a booklet, "Messages for
All." It was not completed till after I had settled in
Ongole. This became practically the text-book in the
movement among the Madigas. I had brought into it a
collection of Bible verses on the different phases of Chris-
tian experience. I tried to put the whole gospel into it.
If a man comprehended the verses, one after another, in
that little book, he knew enough of the truth as it is in
Jesus Christ to be saved. In the years that followed,
many editions of these tracts were printed, thousands
at a time. They did a great work in being tools in the
hands of our preachers and teachers.

There was a large temple in Nellore. The time came
for the annual temple festival. People from the villages
outside of Nellore were coming to celebrate. Everyone
was in a frame of mind to forget for a short time the
daily pursuits and engage in religious observances. I
had one thousand copies of my tract, "Where are You
Going?" ready for the occasion. During the days of the
festival I took my place on a pile of stones lying on a
street where the people were passing in throngs. All
were talking, full of excitement, moving along ready to
be interested in all they saw. I made myself heard above
the din of voices, as I shouted to them to take one of the
tracts I was holding in my hands. One thousand of them
were given away, one by one, into the hands of the
people during the days of that festival. There were con-
versions afterwards. This was a method of reaching peo-
ple much in use at that time. The missionaries in north-
ern India, especially, employed it. The appeal made at a
time when the people were in a responsive mood, ready
to be swayed by religious impulses, was often effective.
But it reached their hearts while away from home, de-

MY APPRENTICESHIP AT MISSIONS 79

tached from their accustomed surroundings. The move-
ment among the Madigas taught me to take the people
in their villages, and to Christianize the village.

It was my custom to go out to one of the hamlets of
Nellore every Sunday afternoon. I could talk with the
people a little, but I could not yet preach. One of the
regular preachers of the mission went with me. We se-
lected a central place in the hamlet, where there was
shade, and invited the people to come out of their huts
and form a group of listeners. Often they held back.
I used my own method of encouraging them to come.
The vein of mirth and fun in my nature was bound to
assert itself. I had learned in my work with Americans
that if I wanted to come in touch with a group of lis-
teners I must first laugh with them. The Telugus were
not different in that respect ; only I had to adjust myself
to their sense of humor. If a man refused to come be-
cause he had no coat to wear I took mine off and put it
on him, and thus marched him to the preaching-place.
Every face by that time was happy with amusement. My
sense of humor was part of my natural equipment, and I
did not restrain it when I began my work in India.

During all my apprenticeship I sat at the feet of Dr.
Warren. He brought me into contact with the deep
spiritual meaning of the missionary's work. With a firm
hand he had upheld the Telugu Mission thus far. He
had marked me as the man for it. He now watched me
in my development. It was not long before he saw that
the independence in method which I had developed in
my pioneer life on the Western prairies was going to be
applied to my work in India. He wanted to see this in-
dependence brought under the guidance of the Holy
Spirit, and was ready then, in any given situation, to
believe that I was doing as Jesus wanted me to do. Dr.
Warren was strong in the idea of democracy in Baptist

8o SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

churches. His position all through was: when a mis-
sionary is in the hands of the Holy Spirit we as a de-
nomination must fall into line and uphgld him, because
we sent him out there. I sensed this attitude in him from
the beginning. It affected me in the hidden depths of
my missionary motive.

In my letters of those early years Dr. Warren saw that
I was forming human contacts everywhere. There was
attraction and there was repulsion. Twice during my
apprenticeship a mob was ready to fall upon our mission
house. He wrote me a long letter, in which he taught me
how to get hold of people in order to bring them to
Jesus. He did not want me to sit in the mission house
studying my Bible, keeping up in due form the Sunday
services, praying and singing and preaching. He wanted
me to break forth on all sides. "Those people will be-
lieve in you first as the representative of Christ. Some
of them will be won by mere human sympathies, at the
outset, and led step by step into the spiritual house, the
temple of God. . . . The first disciples learned religion
from the person of Christ, not from abstract ideas. . . .
Move among the people; get hold of them; draw them
to you." This counsel was true to my natural tempera-
ment, and I willingly followed Dr. Warren in the spir-
itual application.

Six months after our arrival I wrote to him, November
6, 1865:

''Christianity and our mission begin to occupy the place
and exert the influence which they ought. Yet we want
more of the influence of the Holy Spirit among us and in
us. I am no longer able to keep quiet, and daily go out
with the catechists to the villages near the mission house,
preaching. Yesterday was a happy day for the 'Lone Star'
Mission. It was my privilege to baptize four, upon profes-

MY APPRENTICESHIP AT MISSIONS 8l

sion of their faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. Our prayers
are beginning to be heard. God is sending us his elect, a
great multitude of whom we expect to see here among the
Telugus ere many years, who shall come out from heathen-
ism and join the throng which is passing into the kingdom
of heaven from all parts of the world. We are earnestly
asking God to give us at least one hundred, before the
close of the year 1866, seals of our ministry.

"The 'Lone Star' Mission has stood here in the midst
of darkness deeper than night for about twenty-five years ;
yet few, very few, have 'believed our report.' We feel
that this cannot longer be endured — that God has an elect
people here, and that they must come out from the reckless
multitude and unite themselves with the children of light."

Dr. Warren replied to this letter January 27, 1866, as
follows :

"I am this hour in receipt of your favor of November 6,
1865, a very long time on the way for letters from Nellore
: — three months. But the news compensated for the delay.
It really does me good to follow your pen as it discloses
your restive desire to be out, with the open mouth and the
moving tongue, among the people, with the messages of
salvation. I am glad the word is like fire shut up in your
bones, for I see in it your calling of God to that very work,
and a pledge at once of your fitness for it and your success
in it. . . . And the Lord grant your largest petition, and
enlarge your heart to ask still greater things. I notice you
are asking for one hundred converts this year. That is
well, very well, and if we had so many we might think that
the Lord has indeed made windows in heaven. But, really,
why not ask for a thousand, as well as for one hundred?

"And then, I must say I like your idea of seeking after
the 'elect' of God in that dark land. That is the true idea.
It is the only solid ground to stand on in missionary work.
. . . The very fact that he has sent you there, with such
a purpose as you cherish, is of itself evidence that he means

82 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

you to gather fruits for himself, 'Sons unto glory/ Go on
and prosper then, and may you see scores and thousands
turning unto God. My heart is with you, and so are the
hearts of all the brethren here."

I was full of hope in those days. The prophetic tone
had been a characteristic of the mission. Mr. Day had
been upheld by his faith in great things. Dr. Jewett was
always talking of "much people." Now I took it up. It
was afterwards said in the mission that "Clough talked
wild in those days." I had a friend there in Nellore who
later held a high post in the educational department of
the government in Madras. He says he was reasoning
with me one day, asking me what I was going to do with
that multitude which I expected to see coming over to
Christianity. He wanted to know where I was going to
get the money to supply them with Christian teaching. I
told him that if I tried I could get one hundred thousand
dollars from America for this purpose. It was a daring
statement. The whole annual income of our society at
that time did not rise much higher than that figure. It
took twenty-five years to bring it to pass.

According to the actual facts of our every-day life in
Nellore, our prayer for one hundred converts during 1866
was not granted. They did not come. We thought the
failure must be due to the native preachers, who had con-
tentions among themselves, and were divided. I wrote,
*T think our faith was too weak to remove so large a
weight." Dr. Warren, on the other hand, wrote accord-
ing to the larger vision, "Why not ask for a thousand ?"
Less than two months after he had penned this question
a man was baptized who, during the thirty years of his
ministry, led more than one thousand people to believe
in Jesus. Less than twelve months after Dr. Warren
asked that question two lads were baptized, Baddepudy

MY APPRENTICESHIP AT MISSIONS 83

Abraham and Bezwada Paul, who each stood, potentially,
for thousands of converts. They became evangelists to
their people. If Dr. Warren had asked, "Why not ask
for five thousand?" — he would have been right.

Meanwhile I was having an experience there in Nel-
lore with the Brahmans. Several Brahman young" men
had been coming to see me. I had fixed upon Sunday
afternoon for visits of this kind, but they began to come
at other times also. They could talk English somewhat,
and in the beginning they were attracted, no doubt, by
the opportunity to talk with a white man. They also ap-
preciated my friendliness. I told them about my relig-
ion. They argued with me. It must be that Jesus met
them and they felt his power. Two out of that group of
Brahman young men were, I believe, converted. They
asked for baptism and set the time for the first Sunday
in April. Great excitement now spread over Nellore.
Few understood what the ordinance of Christian baptism
meant. All looked upon it as hopeless degradation for a
man of high caste to unite himself religiously with a com-
pany of people composed of the lower caste. None of
the Nellore Christians were higher than the Sudra caste.

The families of the Brahman young men now took
matters in hand. All were forbidden to see me. One of
the two who had requested baptism was sent to a distant
part of the Telugu country. The other was subjected to
petty persecution by his family. They held him by force.
He was locked up in his room at night, and guarded by
two men by day. He had begun to pray to Jesus Christ,
and had omitted the Brahmanical ceremonies required of
him every morning. They now dragged him to the river;
they ordered him to say his mantras and to draw the
mark on his forehead, indicating that he had done so.
He refused.

There was a large community of Brahmans in Nel-

84 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

lore, many of them wealthy, learned and influential. They
felt that something must be done. The tahsildar, the
highest native official in Nellore, was one of them, and
they appealed to him. He issued an edict that no Brah-
man should come to our mission house or receive our
books. He had no right to do this. It was contrary to
the proclamation of religious liberty issued by the Eng-
lish Crown in 1858. But if I had protested against his
edict he would have claimed that it was intended only for
the men of his own caste and religious order, and that in
any case it was preferable to having a mob attack the
mission house, with possible bloodshed. His order was
obeyed. All became quiet, as if nothing had happened.
Only once in a while, though closely watched, one of
those two converts came to see me. I had had my first
contact with the Brahmans, and had felt their power.

Right into the midst of this came a letter from Ongole
bearing the call — not loud, but distinct — from Yerra-
guntla Periah, the forerunner of a mass movement to-
ward Christianity among the outcaste. He belonged to
a primitive tribe, the Madigas, leather workers by trade,
in servitude to all, poor, ignorant, despised. There w^re
no Madigas in the Nellore church. Dr. Jewett and I
were somewhat perplexed ; we feared complications. We
agreed, however, that it was not open to us to debate
this. We were bound to receive everyone who believed
in Jesus Christ.

Thus was I wheeled around from dealing with the
Brahmans, who stood at the top of the social ladder in
India, way over to the other extreme — the outcaste,
whom no one wanted. I did not know then that after
opening the door to this one man among the Madigas a
whole multitude of them would come pressing in. Nor
did I realize that by opening the door to the Madigas
we were closing it against all others. When it dawned

MY APPRENTICESHIP AT MISSIONS 85

on me what we had gained by the coming of the Madigas
and what we had lost — it was too late to change.

At this time, while I was walking straight into the
bitterest disappointment of my whole missionary career,
not knowing what I was doing, since it all came in the
ordinary events of daily life, I received a letter from Dr.
Warren. He wrote :

**I pray your joys may abound. I am not unwilling your
trials should be many. Baptisms in suffering must be. Do
not be alarmed if you see them approaching, for they open
the way to great consolations, Godlike deliverances. With
unspeakable pleasure I leave you in the hands of God. In
such keeping how safe you are, and how certain of attain-
ing to everlasting blessedness."

I had been in India nearly a year and had not yet seen
Ongole, we had been so hard at work in Nellore. Dr.
Jewett and I decided that we should now take that jour-
ney. It was already March, 1866; the hot season would
soon be upon us. He had much to show me in Ongole :
the bungalow and compound, and "Prayer Meeting Hill,"
not far away. But as we went on that journey no one
said to us that I was now to be taken to the place where
forty years of hard work were waiting for me. No one
as yet had said that I was "the man for Ongole.** I was
taking root in Nellore ; Dr. Jewett was thinking strongly
of letting me remain there. He was willing to settle in
Ongole, with Mrs. Jewett, who was back with him at her
post, their children left in America.

We took our way along the seacoast and halted at
the rich town of Allur. A good deal of preaching had
been done here. We wanted to make it a mission station.
We went thirty miles farther and halted at Ramapatnam.
Dr. Jewett felt strongly that we must begin work here.

86 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

I agreed with him. A missionary society south of us had
recently asked us whether we intended to cover the ter-
ritory between Nellore and Ongole with our operations.
They were expecting large reenforcement and were map-
ping out their field. We asked them to leave the stretch
of eighty miles between Nellore and Ongole to us. The
distrust, both in America and in India, concerning the
capacity of our Telugu Mission was something which I
could not have endured much longer.

We reached Ongole. It counted at that time about
6,000 inhabitants; later it rose to 10,000. There was
no other town of that size within a radius of fifty
miles. It was therefore important as a center of trade.
My first impression of Ongole did not make me en-
thusiastic. I saw that anyone who settled there would
have plenty of elbow room. I saw, too, that the property
secured by Dr. Jewett's vigilance gave us a good foot-
hold for work. It had a forlorn look at that time. The
compound of eleven acres had been made a grain field
to help pay the taxes. The bungalow had been rented to
an English official, who lived in it. There were four
rooms of about equal size. The roof, covered with tiles,
was too low for safety during the hot season. The
verandas were thatch-covered. Was I to bring my fam-
ily here, and make this our home?

There was one peculiar fact about Ongole which did
not come into consideration with me at that time, because
I did not know what the future had in store for me. I
was always talking about a ''multitude of the elect." If
it was so ordained that I was to bring in the con-
verts from the territory of about 7,000 square miles
which was for years called "the Ongole field," then I had
to locate at Ongole. Three trunk roads began in Ongole
and led into the region where the movement spread.
From no other town could I have reached so easily the

MY APPRENTICESHIP AT MISSIONS 87

districts where afterwards our Christians lived. They
could come to me in almost a straight line. Those roads
were military roads. Long ago they had been merely
country tracks; they were improved when English regi-
ments began to pass back and forth. The great road
leading from Madras to Calcutta also went through
Ongole.

The government had regarded Ongole as a strategic
point. After the conquest of that part of India, when
English magistrates were appointed to important centers,
one was located at Ongole. This was about the year
1790. A regiment of English soldiers was stationed
there for some time. We missionaries fell into line with
statesmanship. What was strategic to the state was
strategic to religion also. The roads improved for the
purpose of military and commercial traffic were the roads
our people traveled when they wanted salvation for their
souls. No doubt a firm Hand was guiding us. We
builded better than we knew.

The inquirer, Yerraguntla Periah, lived at Tallakonda-
paud, forty miles southwest of Ongole. We sent for him.
I went back to Nellore to my work. Dr. Jewett stayed
and waited. It was right that after all his faith, and his
holding on, he should have had this disciple all to him-
self, to leave the imprint of his benediction upon him.
He came back to Nellore and with joy in his heart told
me all. He wrote to Dr. Warren :

"This man, unable to read a word, belonging to a class too
low to be despised, impressed on my mind the image of
patriarchal life. The simplicity of his story, the sincerity
of his faith, and the ardor of his love, shining forth
through the tears which flowed down his cheeks — all bore
witness to the saving work of God in his soul. His wife
in the same spirit of simplicity, faith, and love told the

88 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

artless story of her conversion. These were some of the
happiest moments of my life. I was ready in a moment to
baptize them."

He had given several days wholly to teaching this man
and his wife. They were hungry and thirsty for all they
could learn about the Lord Jesus and this Christian re-
ligion. When Dr. Jewett was not talking with them they
asked questions of the preacher who had come with him.
They eagerly accepted the tracts and books given them,
ready to carry them back the forty miles. With a few
copper coins they were going to hire some one to read to
them. They had left behind in their village a group of
people who looked anxiously for their return ; they, too,
wanted to place their feet upon this path.

We were amazed. Dr. Jewett and I were of one mind :
the time had come to act. One of us must go. I was on
fire. With a revival already begun in that distant part
of the field, I wanted to be in the midst of it. Dr. Jewett
now treated me as a father treats a son. H^ad seen
twenty years of missionary life. I stood on the threshold
of mine. He gave me the right of way. He let me state
my case to Dr. Warren and told me to send the letter.
He did not add a word himself. Dr. Warren understood
his silence.

The rough draft of my letter to Dr. Warren, dated
March 24, 1866, is still among my papers, a long docu-
ment, written in pencil. Usually I struck out with bold-
ness and decision when I wanted anything. Not so here ;
I evidently needed to convince myself, and I gave Dr.
Warren the benefit of my argument. I told him about
Allur and Ramapatnam, and added that I was willing to
go to either place. I argued that our best man should
stay in Nellore, and that government officials, too, send

MY APPRENTICESHIP AT MISSIONS 89

their juniors to the outstations. I wanted to be treated
as a junior. I wrote :

"Lastly, I must confess that I have a little ambition to
see if the Lord will not bless my labors in India. If I work
here I may build on other men's foundation. This Paul
was not anxious to do. If you send me to Ongole, a great
wilderness will be before me. If I succeed, to God will be
the glory. If I fail, it will show that I am not in the right
place."

It took that letter two months to go to Boston, and
before another three months had passed I had my an-
swer. It was dated June 13, 1866:

"I have long been looking with a covetous eye upon On-
gole, and hoping the time would come when we should be
able to occupy it as a mission station, and locate a mis-
sionary there. That time, I am happy to believe, draws
nigh. The Executive Committee are with me fully in that
opinion, and so placed themselves on record yesterday. It
only remains that you, in accordance with this vote, go for-
ward and execute it.

"You will need something to defray expenses of removal,
and I shall endeavor to put in an item for that purpose. I
should really love to go with you, help you on your way,
and settle down with you in your new home. Those souls
are worth saving, every one of them. Yes, one of them is
worth going a long way to save. 'While we look, not at
the things which are seen, but at the things which are not
seen; for the things that are seen are temporal, but the
things that are not seen are eternal' If we could so look,
how would our estimates of all things be changed. How
should we labor for souls!"

Thus I received my marching orders. Dr. Warren
had given me his benediction on the way. I was by this

90 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

time very eager to go to Ongole. We had sent three
preachers out in the direction of Tallakondapaud where
Periah Hved. They found him burning with zeal for the
souls of his fellow-men and far ahead of themselves in
his desire to preach. He made them get up long before
daybreak and go to villages at a distance. It was during
the hot season and he carried a big pot of buttermilk on
his head for them to drink when thirsty. When the three
preachers returned to Nellore they reported that prob-
ably two hundred people in the region of Tallakondapaud
were believing in Christ. This report was exaggerated,
but it stirred us all.

The question was, who of the staff of six helpers was
to go with us, and who was to stay behind ? They were
full of enthusiasm and ready to go. We divided even.
Dr. Jewett kept three and sent three with us : Tupili Run-
giah, who had been trained by the Jewetts since boyhood,
Ezra, who had joined the mission later, and Lutchmiah,
whom I had dug out of heathenism, and their families.

It was a great event in the history of our'Telugu Mis-
sion when missionaries and helpers started forth to found
the Ongole Mission, which had thus far been seen only in
visions and prayers. Toward evening, September 12,
1866, when it was time for going, the compound filled
with people. The native Christians and friends, many
of whom we had learned to love, were there. Their
hearts were full ; many wept ; they spoke words of bene-
diction to us. With feelings too deep for utterance I
took the parting hand of dear Brother Jewett. It was
now thirteen years since he came down from that moun-
taintop, convinced that "the man for Ongole" was com-
ing. We did not know that in another thirteen years the
Ongole church would number thirteen thousand members.
We only knew that we were stirred to the depths.

MY APPRENTICESHIP AT MISSIONS 9I

Monday morning, September 17, 1866, at daybreak,
we came in sight of "Prayer Meeting Hill." Soon wc
halted in front of the bungalow, Mrs. Clough, with Allen,
in a palanquin, and I on a pony, glad to be at home in
Ongolc.

VII

THE DESTINED LEADERS OF A MOVEMENT

Ours was an energetic group as we now began work
in Ongole. There was nothing half-hearted about us.
No doubts assailed us. We felt called to this work and
to this place. We intended, with the blessing of God,
to succeed.

Mrs. Clough brought with her a good equipment as
teacher. During our stay in Nellore she had obtained a
knowledge of the Telugu language and had studied the
situation from her point of view. It was understood
from the first that the school work at Ongole was to
be in her charge. The wives of the three preachers who
came with us were her assistants in beginning the work
for women. We all fell into line. Tupili Rungiah began
to second my efforts, so that for years I called him my
right hand man.

Then there was Yerraguntla Periah. In several im-
portant decisions which were now before us, he acted as
spokesman for his people. He and I were influencing
each other a good deal in those first months in Ongole.
He regarded me as his teacher, and I, in turn, always
wanted to know what he had to say, when I came upon
questions in connection with the work, which were so
distinctly Indian that I could not easily find my bear-
ings. Periah was a personality: a man with a spiritual
history. He had taken more distinct steps in his religious

92

THE FORERUNNER OF A MASS MOVEMENT TOWARD CHRISTIANITY

"Yerraguntla Periah was a personality ; a man with a spiritual history. He
had taken more distinct steps in his religious experience than falls to the lot of
most zvhite men to take. . . . His request to me zvas practically that I
should let this Christian movement go in the channels formed by Indian move-
ments of spiritual significance. ... 7 loved that man. He never in all the
years failed me. . , ."

THE DESTINED LEADERS OF A MOVEMENT 93

experience than falls to the lot of most white men to
take. He could not read; there was no one in those
days who could be induced to teach a poor Madiga. It
was not a matter of study and thought with him: it
was a matter of living in one phase of Indian religious
life after another. Born into any other community, he
would have risen to the top. As a Madiga among Mad-
igas he stood in bold outline.

Periah grew up in the modes of worship which be-
long to the Madiga hamlet. This worship is of a low
order; for it is largely actuated by fear of unseen forces.
The Madigas bow before images and idols that stand
mostly for non-Aryan cults : serpent worship, mother
worship in some form, and especially demon worship,
all ancient as the race. Even though Periah, early in
life, came in touch with Aryan forms of worship, he did
not discard the primitive beliefs of his village. The
break with these came when he heard of Jesus Christ.

In the time of his grandfather, a Guru of the Rama-
nuja sect had been invited by the family to come with
the idols of Vishnu and perform sacred rites before
them. This was Aryan worship. It dated back to the
great teacher Ramanuja who lived in the twelfth century,
the first of a line of Vaishnavite reformers. There is
resemblance between his teaching and that of Jesus, the
Christ. Periah considered his contact with this sect an
advance, both religiously and socially, upon the cults and
customs of the ordinary Madiga.

After he had come to maturity a change came. He had
heard that through the practice of Yoga the soul could
unite with God. Eagerly he now entered this path.
His teacher was an elderly woman, Bandikatla Veerama
by name, who came to a neighboring village to visit
her children. She was an initiated disciple of the Yogi
Pothuluri Veerabrahmham, one of those religious per-

94 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

sonalities who are deeply revered by the Hindus. He
lived about a century ago and was known in all that
region as a Saivite reformer of pure life. A band of
disciples had gathered around him to whom he gave the
inner teaching of his order. The common people were
taught by him that God is Spirit. He filled thousands
with the expectation of an incarnation of divine life. As
in all modern Indian reform movements, whether Vaish-
navite or Saivite, caste was denounced. This explains
why Periah could be received as a disciple by the woman
Guru, Veerama. She was a caste woman and people
of all castes came to her; nevertheless, she allowed Periah
and one other Madiga, who afterwards became a Chris-
tian preacher, to come to her for instruction. The owner
of the house which she occupied objected. Rather than
ask her followers of low degree to stay away, she looked
for another house. Before her death she initiated Periah.
This became a leading fact in his life, and gave him a
standing in the Madiga community wh^ch nothing else
could have given him.

It was known that for years after his initiation he kept
up the practice of sitting alone, in meditation, an hour
every day, his eyes closed, his fingers pressed over ears
and nostrils, so that objects of sense might be completely
shut out, and the soul might seek union with the all-per-
vading Divine Being. As time passed, he was asked to
come here and there to teach. He had a Guru-staff in
his hand, which he never discarded, not even after he
became a Christian preacher. Where he stayed in a vil-
lage and taught the people, they gave him to eat. It
seems there was little in his teaching which he afterwards
had to contradict as evil, when he went among the same
people to tell them about Jesus.

Others of the men who afterwards became leading
Ongole preachers were sitting at the feet of Raja Yoga

THE DESTINED LEADERS OF A MOVEMENT 95

teachers during those years. None of those Gurus stood
as high as the woman Guru, Veerama. They had col-
lected only snatches here and there of Yoga teaching,
and gave them out to their followers amid extortion of
gifts. They had fallen from the high moral standard
required of the true Yogi. Periah knew wherein the dif-
ference lay. He held aloof from the shiftless Gurus who
came and went. Of Veerama he never spoke with any-
thing but deep respect. Even in his old age he said,
'What the teachers of Yoga told me was good. But
nothing satisfied my soul till I heard of Jesus Christ."
The years passed. Periah must have been nearly fifty
years old when the greatest change in his life came to
him. It now happened that he found occasion for travel.
In the Godavari district many cattle were dying, stung
by a poisonous fly, and hides therefore were cheap.
Others of the more intelligent and prosperous Madigas
were going north to buy several cartloads of hides and
bring them back to sell at large profit. It was an un-
dertaking; sometimes the traders were gone a year or
two. As they took their way north, they passed through
the town of Ellore, about one hundred miles northeast
of Ongole. A mission station had been located here by
the Church of England. Rev. F. N. Alexander was the
missionary at that time and continued in that place for
many years, a man full of zeal, with methods thoroughly
evangelistic.

Some years before, a Madiga trader had heard him
preach, when out on tour. The message sank into his
heart; he sought instruction and was received into the
Ellore church. He had built a hut and settled in the
north with his family. This man, Vongole Abraham,
was distantly related to Periah and a number of others
who afterwards constituted the staff of Ongole preachers.
Family relationship, however distant, is cherished by the

96 SOCTAI. CHRTSTTANITY IN TTTK ORIENT

Madipas. 1 he traders looked upon Abraham as a friend
in that northern conntry. TTc e^ave them hints in a busi-
ness way that helped tliem in trade. They stayed vvitli
him sometimes for a day or two. llie new rehgion then
became a toi)ic of conversation.

That group of men, after being banded together to
find out something of truth from the teachers of Yoga,
now became banded together in learning something of
the Christian religion. It was not made easy for them.
They gathered uj) a little here and there, and as they met
in trade, they told each other of it. The one on whom
they chielly relied was Vongole Abraham. If he had not
settled in that northern district, and become a man of
active Christian character, something might have gone
wrong with the movement toward Christianity. He
formed an important link in the chain of happenings.

It is a remarkable fact that the leaders of the m(we-
ment were going through this "lingular course of prej)-
aration during the years while I was forced into giving
up my own ambitions for a career, and the American
Baptists found it impossible to abandon their Telugu
Mission. These separate strands of human experience
came to a meeting point when Periah's longing for Chris-
tian fellowship overpowered him, and he called to me
to come.

Periah, up there in that northern district, felt that he
must get some first-hand information about Jesus Christ.
He went to Ellore. The mission bungalow was easily
found. Mr. Alexander was always accessible. He gave
Periah abundant time in an interview, and asked him
to remain to a meal in his compound. It was not neces-
sary to teach Periah that there is one God and he is
Spirit. He had learned this and much else when on
the path of Yoga. He wanted to know about the divine
incarnation of Jesus Christ. Mr. Alexander told him

THE DESTINED LEADERS OF A MOVEMENT 97

the Story with all the power of his own personal belief
in it. Pcriah said, "This religion is true. My soul is
satisfied." He wanted to unite with the Christians.
When Mr. Alexander learned that his home was far
south, and that he intended soon to return there, he
advised him to unite with the Christian mission nearest
to his home. This was wise, far-seeing policy on the
part of Mr. Alexander. Had his advice to Periah been
otherwise, something again might have gone wrong with
that movement.

Mr. Alexander was a friend of Dr. Jewett and knew
that I had come with him, and that one of us would
settle in Ongole. He said tf) Periah, "You are going
back to your home. Incjuire from time to time, for soon
a white teacher is coming to Ongole. Go to him; he
will tell you more about this religion."

Periah was a changed man when he returned to his
village. He knelt and prayed to a God of whom no one
had ever heard; he refused to bow to the old village
gods. It was not easy to persecute and abuse him. His
relatives and neighbors withdrew from him, hoping thus
to bring him to his senses. This had no effect on him.
He told them, *T shall go to the people of the Christian
sect, and I shall eat with them." As time passed, his
wife Nagama became of one mind with him. Then
others began to ask him what he knew of Jesus Christ.
He was preaching, and giving out to others what he
had learned in a fragmentary way. People believed his
message.

But it was a weary time for him. Often he incpu'red
of those who came that way: "Has no white teacher
come to Ongole?" He could bear the waiting no longer;
he walked the forty miles to Ongole, and was shown the
compound thr.t belonged to the Nellore missionary. In
one corner of it was a hut, which Obulu, the first of the

98 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

Ongole converts, had built for himself. About eight
years previously, Dr. Jewett was preaching in the Ongole
bazaar, when this man came and listened a while, and
said, "I am sunk in a sea of sin. These are just the
words I want."

The coming of the Ongole missionary was the burden
on Obulu's soul. When the Jewetts embarked for Amer-
ica, he walked all the way to Madras and begged them
to bring back with them the man for Ongole. Obulu
was there, in that hut, in the corner of that compound,
when Periah came and asked, *'Where is the white
teacher who was coming to Ongole?" Had Obulu not
been there, it is possible that the movement might have
miscarried even then. Periah might have failed to make
connection with us : I might have become permanently
settled in Nellore, and his call, had it come later, might
have fallen on deaf ears.

But Obulu was there. He gave Periah an abounding
sympathy. He directed him to the house of an over-
seer of public works, where Dr. Jewett sometimes held
meetings. Periah went there and made a deep salaam,
and said, ''Where is the white teacher? I believe in
Jesus Christ. I want Christian fellowship." Then the
letter was written that reached us in Nellore at a de-
cisive hour. It was the last link in a long chain of hafH
penings. Afterwards, in his old age, Periah sometimes
said to the younger men, 'T called our Clough Dhora, and
he came." It is true that he called me. Soon after his
baptism he came to Nellore to see me. His joy was
great : I was the man for whom he had long waited.
With all the devotion of his nature he henceforth held to
me. He gave me a spiritual allegiance of a high order.
Afterwards, when my staff of preachers counted fifty
men, strong men among them, on whom I leaned, Periah
never lost his place close to me, though often I saw him

THE DESTINED LEADERS OF A MOVEMENT 99

only once in three months. Everybody knew that Periah
had a distinctive position with me, which no one need
covet, or desire for himself; for it would remain vacant
when Periah died.

With the deepest interest Periah looked on, as we
settled down at Ongole and made the place habitable.
The bungalow had to be repaired, and houses erected
on the compound for the preachers who came with us.
On one of those early visits to Ongole, he brought with
him his young kinsman, Bezwada Paul. I saw that
he was a lad of some promise, and asked Periah to leave
him with us. I found work for him to do in connection
with our household, so that he could become one of us.
Mrs. Clough took him into the little school on our
veranda. My main object was to let him stay as an
anchorage to the Madiga community. The movement
among the Madigas was already on us.

Periah told me that there were believers out in his
village, Tallakondapaud, perhaps twenty or thirty in
number. He urged me to come and baptize them. I
now talked this over with him. In those early days of
the mission we observed the Lord's Supper on every
first Sunday of the month. Periah always came walk-
ing the forty miles each way; often Nagama came with
him. I asked him to bring those believers to Ongole in
groups, that we might receive them into the Ongole
church. This was not according to his mind. He had
a definite plan. He wanted me to come out there, to
stay several days, giving spiritual instruction, and then to
baptize those who gave evidence that they were sincere
believers in Jesus. It was to be done in such a way
that the tidings would be carried over all that region.
Everyone would know that there had been a definite
act of forming a religious center, from which spiritual
influences could now be expected to radiate. It was

lOO SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

an oriental way of urging the planting of a Christian
church.

With his capacity for organizing people into groups,
Periah may have gathered points here and there about
the Christian church, and applied them to his own case
with a kind of unerring religious instinct. He had asked
searching questions from Mr. Alexander and his cate-
chists; he had sat for days at Dr. Jewett's feet, and
had talked for hours with our Nellore preachers. Pos-
sibly some one had read the Acts of the Apostles to
him. These sources of knowledge of our Western way
of organizing may have been tapped by him. But it
is far more likely that he worked this out on the pat-
tern of the Indian Guru. He had ceased to be a Raja
Yoga Guru and had become a Christian preacher by a
simple sequence of events. These believers who were
waiting out there were his disc'nles. He wanted me now
to come as one of long experience in the Christian life
and give sanction to all that had been done. Among
the Gurus there is a hierarchy. He of deeper experience
and higher initiation leads those of less. These oriental
conceptions were all a part of Periah' s mental equipment.
His request now to me was practically that I should let
this Christian movement go in the channels formed by
Indian movements of spiritual significance.

It must be that the Lord Jesus gave to Periah a clear
conception of the design which we were to work out,
and that he gave to me sufficient spiritual vision to grasp
its bearings. The plan, as I thought it over, seemed right
to me and in accordance with New Testament methods.
In the days of the apostles the church at Jerusalem re-
ceived tidings of a Christian movement in the city of
Antioch. They sent out Barnabas, a man in whom they
had full confidence, as one who would deal wisely with
the situation. Though all were Gentiles, he remained

THE DESTINED LEADERS OF A MOVEMENT lOI

with the behevers at Antioch until they were established
as a group related to the church at Jerusalem. With
Antioch as the beginning, the apostles formed Christian
centers among the Gentiles. In like manner with us, at
Ongole, the beginning which we made at Tallakondapaud
formed the pattern. Before ten years had passed we
had thirty such centers scattered over seven thousand
square miles, all affiliated to the church at Ongole. We
could not have held ourselves more closely to the way
indicated in apostolic times.

My decision to go out to Tallakondapaud was an act
of faith on my part. I knew nothing of the background
of religious experience which filled this group of con-
verts with so much zeal. Books on the Indian religions
were few in those days. I was new in the country.
Moreover, to me the Hindus were all heathen. If any-
one had tried to explain to me that I was now to draw
into a Christian movement the fervor which had been
generated in an Indian movement, I would probably
have refused to believe him. I felt the risk keenly. I
would willingly have baptized those people, a few at a
time, as they came to Ongole, for it would not have
caused much comment, even if nothing more was heard
from them. But to go out there, and in that dramatic
form baptize a group of people, establish a Christian
center, and recognize its leader as the pastor was a dif-
ferent matter. Those people were all outcastes, only
one could read a little. Suppose the whole thing died
down after a time! Then it could justly be said that
a new recruit in the service, as I then was, had no
right to assume so much responsibility. However, I felt
that I must take the risk and go ahead.

First, we had to organize a Baptist church at Ongole,
so that these converts could be baptized into its fel-
lowship. We had eight members who had letters of dis-

102 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

missal from the Nellore church. Our church at Ongole
was organized January i, 1867. We observed the week
of prayer. Then, full of strength, ready for anything that
might come, I undertook the first of my many long mis-
sion tours. Mrs. Clough remained behind, in charge of
the compound. I borrowed a tent from an English of-
ficer. As I had no pony, I went in an ordinary bullock-
cart. I halted at villages on the way and preached.
Finally I reached Tallakondapaud, and was gladly wel-
comed by Periah and his wife. My tent was pitched
in a fine tamarind grove near by, and here now I
took my first lesson in the simple village life that was
so new to me. Word was passed from village to vil-
lage that I had come. The next day thirty or forty
men and women appeared before the tent, each with
provisions for several days, tied up in a cloth. They
said they had come to learn more about Jesus, but that
they already believed and wanted to be baptized.

"Then commenced a series of meetings in that tamarind
grove that continued for five days, which I can never forget.
There were thirty-five in constant attendance, and many
others at times. The meetings were for preaching, prayer,
and reading the Scriptures and inquiry. At the end of the
fifth day, Sunday, January 20th, twenty-eight were baptized
in the river, a quarter-mile distant, upon profession of their
faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. These meetings and these
baptisms almost made me think that another day of Pente-
cost was being given to us. I have seen many revivals at
home, and witnessed many precious outpourings of the Holy
Spirit, but I never saw such a blessed time as this was —
never saw such faith and such love for Jesus the Saviour.

"The simple reading of the last two chapters of Mat-
thew, or the corresponding chapters in the other gospels,
or the remark that Christ died upon the cross for us and
for the sins of the whole world, would affect them all to

THE DESTINED LEADERS OF A MOVEMENT IO3

tears, and many of them would sob aloud, as though they
had just lost their dearest friend. Their faith is simple,
but, oh, how strong. Such faith as these little ones possess
would be a treasure to anyone, even to the best Christian,
and must result in the conversion of a great multitude.
Those baptized live in six villages, and are of all ages,
from fifteen to seventy years; but the majority are young
men and women between twenty and thirty years of age."

The long letter to Dr. Warren, of which the above
was a part, had far-reaching results. A man came to
Boston from Canada, as a candidate for foreign service
under our Board. He wanted to go to the Karen Mis-
sion. Dr. Warren put this letter from me into his hands
and said, "Read and pray and tell me what you think
of it." It took him one night. The next day it was
settled. He was to come to the Telugus. This man was
Rev. A. V. Timpany. He joined us in 1868, three years
after our arrival. Timpany's coming to us influenced
McLaurin to follow two years later. Together they be-
came founders later on of the Canadian Baptist Mission
in the Telugu country north of our mission. That Tal-
lakondapaud baptism was a great occasion.

I gave myself wholly to the people during those days.
They were hungry and thirsty for every word of divine
truth I could tell them. They sat for hours and could
not get enough. I, in turn, felt my faith refreshed be-
yond measure. I wrote to Dr. Warren: *The ex-
periences of those days were worth more to me than
I can tell. I can toil on now patiently. ... I look for
great things from the Lord." Perhaps it was neces-
sary that I should receive this spiritual uplift; for a
heavy load was slowly adjusting itself to my shoulders.
These people were Madigas. Perhaps men of all other
castes would therefore refuse my message. I had need
of strength.

104 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

It was a remarkable group of people. Afterwards it
came to be regarded as a distinction to have been one
of those twenty-eight. There was Bezwada Paul, whom
I brought from Ongole with me to receive baptism
among his people. He was a born evangelist. There
was another like him in that group, a lad whom I saw
standing with the rest after the baptism. Something
in him appealed to me. I wanted him. I took him by
the hand and said, ''You must come with me, my boy,
I will take you into school and teach you." He replied
with joy, "I will come." I said, "But your parents will
say No." I^e shook his head. He was ready to forsake
all and follow : "Nevertheless, I will come." It was
hard for his parents to let him go. I had to help them
sometimes to make up to them for the loss of their son.
This was Baddepudy Abraham, one o,f«i£he most active
evangelists of the movement. Often in later years he
told of those days with tears in his eyes. He said: "We
could sit together for hours and talk of Jesus. If one
of us spoke of the nails driven into his hands, or the
thorns on his brow, we could hardly bear to hear it.
We sobbed like children. We said to each other : 'He
endured this for us.' Never again was our bhakti — our
devotion — as it was in those days."

The report of this baptism spread over the country.
Periah had calculated the effects rightly. First it was
in the form of a rumor, then the Madigas took hold of
definite facts — there was something in it that stirred
them. Up in the northern districts there were two men,
bent on trade, who were soon to become Christian
preachers. One of them, Pidatala Periah, had spent years
in trying to find salvation through Raja Yoga Gurus.
To six of them, one after another, he had given money,
in the hope that they would tell him something to save
his soul. The worthless character of these men had

THE DESTINED LEADERS OF A MOVEMENT I05

obliterated anything- of truth which might have lain
hidden in their teaching. Weary at heart, heavily in
debt through these Gurus, he now heard the rumors of
a new religion. One day a neighbor from the old home
passed that way on business. He told these two men
what had happened, and went his way. Each had a son,
as well as friends, among the twenty-eight. They sat
down together very sad ; they could hardly keep back
the tears. Pidatala Periah said : 'The brothers born
after me and my own son are on the way to heaven
before me. I cannot stay here longer." The next day
they procured carts, to load one hundred hides on each,
and to start for home. They came to me, full of glad-
ness. I was amazed at it all and could not understand
it. Had they tried to explain it to me, I could not have
understood their search for truth; it was all too com-
plicated.

Before I left Tallakondapaud I talked at length with
Periah. Out there, in the setting of his own village, the
man's patriarchal bearing appeared in noble outline.
A born leader, he was now a Christian preacher by the
grace of God. I told him that I wanted him to give up
all leather work and devote his time wholly to preaching.
He was willing to do this : he was going to preach in
any case. My request, however, called for a readjust-
ment of his personal affairs. H he was to stop all leather
work, then how could he provide for his family ? Where
he was known as Guru, he was given to eat, and some-
thing besides. But I wanted him to go where he was
not known, where no one would trust him as a spiritual
teacher until he had come again and again. In such
places who would give him to eat? How would those
depending on him at home fare meanwhile? It came
to this : In so far as Periah could stay in the groove of
the Hindu Guru, he wanted no support. But where I

I06 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

wanted him to go into Christian evangelistic work out-
side that groove, there I must give him support. I
grasped the situation.

Had Periah asked for a monthly salary, it is probable
that I would have given him all he asked; for I felt
the services of the man were beyond valuation by money.
This would have changed the whole policy of the Ongole
Mission, as it lay in the future. The fact is, that Periah
and I at that time worked out and established a system
of self-support which has endured to the present day.
Periah knew that if he were to receive monthly salary
from me, it would upset the relations, deeply cherished
by him, with those to whom he was a spiritual teacher.
The staff of Ongole preachers, as it increased rapidly
in number, counted in those early da>is several men with
an experience back of them similar to that of Periah.
It was congenial to their minds to be given to eat, in a
humble way, by those whom they had just taught. If
that increasing staff of men had all asked monthly sal-
aries, I would soon have been bankrupt.

There was another important direction in which
Periah and I settled, then and there, the policy of the
Ongole Mission. As he talked with me, he thought it
all over, that he was to go from village to village, fifty,
even eighty, miles from home, to be gone from home
for weeks, even months at a time. He said, "How can
I go about alone all the time?" I replied, "Take Na-
gama, your wife, with you, and you will be two." He
assented gladly. An unusual relation existed between
Periah and his wife. The native people often spoke
of it with deep respect ; they knew of none other like it.
Among those who practice Yoga there is a teaching that
sometimes there are two who may marry, whose souls
are as one soul. It was said that Periah and his wife
were thus. They had no children. As they now began

THE DESTINED LEADERS OF A MOVEMENT IO7

to make long tours together, they went in perfect union.
Periah said in his old age: "What I preached, she
preached; what I ate, she ate. Nagama was always
with me." The women loved Nagama, and gathered
round her when they came to a village. The men looked
up to Periah, as one who knew more than they.

The other preachers did likewise. When the wife
had little children, she stayed and taught the school. All
saw how Mrs. Clough stood by my side, trusted with
responsibility. The women of the mission took their
place from the first in the movement. I subsidized them
as I did the men. They became a powerful factor in
Christianizing the Madigas.

I left Tallakondapaud the night after the baptism.
They were all there : those who had been baptized and
about forty others, from surrounding villages. They
wanted to return home that night and be ready for work
early the next morning. My cart stood ready for me.
Still they held me: still I could not bear to part from
them. It was midnight. We prayed together, and felt
that many would come and unite with us. It must be
that Jesus was in our midst. He was touching our
hearts; that Indian village became holy ground. In the
events of those few days lay the germs of the great
harvest that followed in the name of Jesus.

Two weeks later Periah and Nagama came to Ongole
for the Lord's Supper. Their hearts were heavy. Per-
secution had broken out. The caste people, who expect
the Madigas to worship and appease the demons who
afflict men and cattle, had taken note of all that had
happened. They feared the consequences, and took
measures of restriction which they thought might satisfy
those invisible fiends which they dreaded. The Chris-
tians were ostracized. They were forbidden to come
to the bazaar to buy, to draw water from the public wells,

I08 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

to walk on the streets of the villages where they lived.
All were in trouble. Two families had not so much as
one meal a day. I felt this condition of affairs keenly.
If anyone had told me that I was now to enter upon a
course of steady repetition of such persecutions year
after year during all the period of my missionary life,
I would have staggered under the load. I put money
into Periah's hands for those starving families and sent
him back to tell them all to stand firm in the faith for
Jesus' sake. I wrote to the submagistrate out there and
called upon him to put an end to those persecutions. It
was well that I did this. Soon disease appeared among
the cattle. There were deaths. The Christians were
taken before that magistrate and accused of having
caused these deaths. He dismissed the prisoners, for he
could find no fault in them, and strictly charged the
accusers to cease from troubling them. There was peace
then for a time.

Thus it had come to pass that in one short month
we had organized the Ongole church ; we had begun the
Ongole method of village evangelization ; we had settled
on the Ongole policy of self-support; we had given the
women a status side by side with the men; we had en-
tered upon suffering for Jesus' sake. The movement
had begun.

VIII

EDUCATION FOR AN ILLITERATE PEOPLE

There was much coming and going at the mission
house. The rumor was going over the country that
there was a white man in Ongole who was preaching
a new rehgion, and that it was a good rehgion. Many
came, prompted by curiosity. Some were truly anxious
to know whether there was something in this rehgion
that was meant for them.

Those who came were of various castes. The fact
that we were baptizing groups of Madigas frequently,
and none others, had not become accentuated in the
minds of people. The crisis had not yet come; and ours
was not yet called a Madiga mission. I was happy in
working with the people, as they came, one or two at
a time, and I gave much attention to everyone. I could
say at that time, *'Our hearts are filled with gratitude to
God. He is doing good to us. To him be all the glory.
Our work and prospects as a mission never looked so
promising as now."

Every afternoon, with umbrella in hand, I went out
to preach. Sometimes I went to a Pariah hamlet of
four hundred inhabitants, close to our compound. It
had a bad name. Formerly it had known few quiet
nights. The police constables were powerless to control
these Malas. Now an increasing number were coming
to our Sunday services. The character of the hamlet

109

no SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

was changing rapidly. In those days I did much house-
to-house visiting. I respected prejudices, especially those
of the caste people, and did not approach their homes
until they invited me. Often I said to them, *'Do not be
afraid of me, for I am like your brother, and v^ant to
talk to you about the true God." This was the way to
win their confidence.

I preached in the Ongole bazaar too. Here I met with
active hostility. Ongole was a very conservative place.
The caste people were determined to make it impossible
for me to preach my religion in their hearing. I always
took one or two of our preachers with me. They stoned
us. Even though only pebbles were used, they hurt and
left a mark. I did not take this quietly. I turned around
and asked who threw that stone. Once they made a
definite attack with these pebbles; throwing them thick
and fast, with so much dexterity that no one could be
detected in the act. The police inspector who watched
over my safety while I was in Nellore had been trans-
ferred to Ongole. He knew the temper of the people, and
insisted that I must let him know when I was going to
the Ongole bazaar to preach. He wanted a few of his
constables to be on the border of the crowd that gathered
around me. The tahsildar of Ongole also feared some
kind of an outbreak. He could not make me give up
my preaching, and therefore addressed himself to the
people. He told them if they did not want to hear me,
to pass by quietly, but not to throw stones at me, for
I was only talking about my God and had come to On-
gole to do them good. No harm came to me in the
Ongole bazaar, but probably I was in danger more often
than I realized.

I was still new in the country and had much to learn.
I used every means available to inform myself. Scarcely
a day passed but I came upon something that was new

EDUCATION FOR AN ILLITERATE PEOPLE III

to me, which I could not pass by, because it threw light
on the attitude of the people toward the new religion.
I asked questions. Often the people from the villages
wondered that a white man should be so ignorant of all
that constituted their real world. I tried to be patient
and sympathetic. I learned from them all, whether out-
caste or the highest caste. Neither schools nor books had
anything to do with the teaching I received. It came
by the human contact of daily life. I began to think
with the people and to live with the people their lives.

I had to give up the practice of looking at every-
thing with my American eyes. Even my American love
for freedom had to be suppressed, lest I lose ground by
my indignation over the fetters with which I here saw
everybody bound. Our American rule of equal rights,
and of freedom to act according to our own conscience,
was so self-evident to me, that the system of caste at
first seemed an absurdity. I thought it must vanish as
a matter of course, before the first ray of enlightenment.
That is where I was mistaken. We pioneer missionaries
would not have believed it possible, in those days, that
Hinduism would hold out against Christianity as it has
done. The increase in the Christian population of India
has come largely through several mass movements from
the outcaste population. *

As the months passed, I grasped more and more the
importance of the social institutions of the people. They

* The statistics of 191 1 for Protestant missions in India are as
follows :

Missionary societies 117

Missionaries, men and women 5.200

Indian workers, men and women 38,458

Organized churches 6,308

Communicants in these churches 568,080

Members of the Protestant community 1,636,731

Members of the Roman Catholic community 1,904,006

The total population of India 315,13-2,537

112 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

had grouped themselves according to race distinctions.
Their communal life had endured unchanged for many
centuries. British influence was then beginning to work
a change. Even at that time social groups, held to-
gether thus far with tenacity, were breaking up into
units. But I wondered more and more how the rigor of
this social system would affect my purpose of preaching
Jesus Christ to the Hindus. Where was the road lead-
ing me ?

The movement among the young Brahmans in Nellore
had come to an abrupt close. I expected a repetition of
this, perhaps, among some of ^the other castes. None
came. The leading Mohammedan priest of Ongole, a
wealthy old man, came to see me a number of times.
He said he believed in Jesus, and wanted to unite with
us. For a time it seemed that through him we might
find entrance in the Mohammedan community of that
region. He ceased to come. I began to have a feeling
that everyone was drawing back, holding aloof. There
was a wall of silence, as if I had already hopelessly iden-
tified myself with the outcaste. I was bound to find
out what it all meant.

Often I noticed how the Pariahs kept a distance of
at least ten feet between themselves and the Brahmans.
On the public road they walked far over on one side.
They were evidently in constant fear. When out on tour,
I sent one of my men to buy food from a caste man.
I saw how he laid the money on the ground and walked
away, and the caste man came and picked it up. In
some of the villages men were afraid of me and ran
away. I thought, perhaps, they had never before seen a
white man, and called to them to come. They began
to cough and to act as if in much pain. When they saw
that I only intended to talk kindly with them, they
straightened out; the cough and pain were gone. They

EDUCATION FOR AN ILLITERATE PEOPLE II3

evidently had been afraid I was going to coerce them
into some unpaid service. I saw the outcaste people were
hunted down by oppression.

While I was in this condition of wondering why the
caste people were staying away, wishing always that
there might be some break in their aloofness, the com-
mon people came with ever-increasing gladness. It was
New Testament times over again. I knew all the time
that I was walking in this respect in the footsteps of
my Master, Jesus, but I cannot say that I was then
doing it willingly. Many years later it was said,
"Clough has converted all the cattle-thieves of this re-
gion." The Brahmans meant this as a reproach. To
a servant of the Lord Jesus it was bound to be a com-
mendation.

Soon after the baptism of the twenty-eight at Tal-
lakondapaud, I sent out Preacher Tupili Rungiah to
strengthen the brethren in their faith, and give them
Christian teaching. Six weeks later he came back to
Ongole with a group of twenty-four people, each one
carrying provisions for several days. Seven requested
baptism, two were already waiting in Ongole for the
ordinance. We baptized these nine. The rest had
walked all the forty miles, impelled by the desire for
Christian fellowship. "That Sunday evening thirty-one
native brethren were at the Communion table to com-
memorate the dying love of Jesus."

I had given instructions to Rungiah to take counsel
with Periah, and then jointly to lay it upon this grow-
ing Christian community as a duty that they must set
apart some among their number to become teachers and
preachers. There were Christians now in several vil-
lages. It was to become a rule that every village furnish
its man. The people counted this a rare privilege, but it
meant hardship. I did not ask for the medium ones;

114 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

I asked for the best. I wanted the men on whom their
families had learned to lean, because they were resource-
ful and capable. The mothers of some of the later On-
gole preachers cried when their sons came to our school ;
not as my mother cried, because she had to let me go
to the ends of the earth, but because it meant less to
eat, less clothing, less of the humble comforts of a Mad-
iga's life. In some cases, where I took from aged par-
ents the son on whom they relied most for support, I
could not allow such privation; I helped them. How
the poverty of those Madigas descended upon me at
that time, as a weight whidh I never ceased to feel!

There was no other way open to me but to offer to
furnish the food for those who came to school. Other-
wise there would not have been a single man who could
have stayed longer than a month. In the communal life
of the Indian village it was not intended that the Madiga
should lead anything but a hand-to-mouth existence.
Another consideration was that the kind of men whom
I wanted were sure to be already married. I let their
wives come with them to school. They furnished us
an opportunity to obtain women workers. Some were
dull, but even these, after a year's training, w^ere so far
above the women of the villages that they were looked
upon as teachers. Others were as capable in learning
to read as their husbands. They afterwards taught
school in those Christian centers which were springing
into life. It cost at that time less than two dollars a
month to keep a man and his wife in our school. I felt
that this was a small outlay, in view of the great need
for workers.

Seven men, in the group which came with Runglah,
were ready to enter our school. They formed the nucleus
in my effort to raise up native agency. I added to them
constantly, and made it a phase of our work to which

EDUCATION FOR AN ILLITERATE PEOPLE II5

I gave much thought. I did not dare continue baptizing
groups of Madigas, unless I had teachers and preachers
for them in sight, in our school. The staff of men who
later worked with me as one man through the events
which followed, gathered around me during those first
years at Ongole. One after another they came to our
school, as if attracted by some spiritual law of gravita-
tion. I was in the hands of God in those days : my
methods were made for me, my future co-workers were
sent to me, and meanwhile I was passing through one
critical juncture after another.

Into the midst of these increasing activities came a
letter from Dr. Warren with the usual notification con-
cerning the funds which would be at my disposal during
the coming year, 1867-68. I was dismayed when I saw
it. There was nothing for schools, and little for any-
thing else. A year before I had received a similar notifi-
cation. I then begged for more money, and it was sent.
I now realized that this had ceased to be a question of
a mere passing emergency. It had become a case of life
and death. How was I to preach Jesus and Christianize
the people without money for native agency and for a
school in which to prepare this agency?

I had heard Dr. Jewett tell of Mr. Day's disappoint-
ment, when an order went forth from our society in
1850 that all schools in all the missions be closed. He
had somehow, by soliciting private subscriptions, man-
aged to continue a small school. Mrs. Jewett had labored
in the same way. It was hard work for them. Now
I was to face the same difficulty, accentuated by the fact
that I already had a movement to deal with. I was not
willing to submit. I wrote a letter and protested. This
was my first encounter with the Executive Committee
and I must say I enjoyed telling about it afterwards.
For a young recruit like myself to be attacking what

Il6 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

had been their policy for many years was little less than
impudence. Yet that is what I did.

Dr. Warren replied without delay. He told me that
my letter had occasioned some discussion when the treas-
urer laid it before the Executive Committee. They
agreed with me that "It is not good economy to place
a man on missionary ground and withhold suitable means
and agencies for prosecuting his work. It is not only
impolitic, it is unmerciful and unjust." In principle they
granted this. When it came to practice — the calls were
many and the resources limited. Dr. Warren gave me
a gentle reproof for the forceful tone of my letter. Sev-
eral of my expressions had "grated on the ears of some
of our best brethren." He had made it right with the
brethren, and had told them that I no doubt meant well.
Perhaps if I had been less emphatic they would have taken
little notice of my protest. The tide turned in my direc-
tion. I never afterward lacked money for schools.

I had come upon fortunate times in this respect. Dur-
ing the preceding decade there had been a general ten-
dency in the missionary enterprise to oppose the policy
of educating orientals into the Christian faith. Our own
society had shared in this trend of opinion. The cry was
for evangelization. Then a reversal began to make
itself felt. An impression gained ground everywhere
that education must be employed as a legitimate aid to
evangelization. Liberal views were expressed here and
there. Cases like mine were viewed with open minds, and
requests like mine were granted where possible. I thus
had the current of opinion in the home constituency on
my side. What I could have done without this I do
not know.

While waiting six months for my reply from Boston,
I had time to think over what to do in case my request
was not granted. I would certainly have done some-

EDUCATION FOR AN ILLITERATE PEOPLE II 7

thing about it. The churches in Iowa and Illinois, where
I was known, were sending money for me intO' the treas-
ury, enough and more than enough to support me. I
knew that there was more money available, only it would
be a task to get it. I began even while in Nellore to in-
terest friends at home in our preachers and pupils.
Specific gifts were coming in. If now I was to increase
correspondence of this kind, doing the work of collecting
funds at home, as well as the work on the foreign field,
it would result in unequal distribution of labor. I felt
then as I have always felt, that the lack of supply from
the home base was the breaking of an unwritten pledge.
There was money enough in America to pay for the
Christianizing of an Asiatic people. I felt it a wrong to
withhold it. This critical juncture pertained to my rela-
tion to my constituency.

I was under great pressure otherwise also at that
time. If the Madigas had delayed for a few years, while
I was getting a nucleus of converts from the caste people,
it would not have become an understood fact that ours
was to be a ''Madiga mission." It would have given us
a chance. But they were coming. The only way open
to me was to find a bridge between them and the caste
people; for I had not yet given up the hope that they
also would receive our message. Education would have
to form this bridge between our little Christian com-
munity and the rest. The social status of our converts
must be raised. Their faith in Jesus Christ was chang-
ing them fast ; it was making their lives clean. The fact
that they desired an education was in itself making a
new people of them. At that time not one Pariah in ten
thousand knew his alphabet. If now I could demonstrate
to the caste people that the Madigas would cease to be a
wholly illiterate community, it surely was bound to affect

Il8 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

public Opinion. I was ready to stake a good deal on the
attempt.

There were three bright boys in our school, sons of
our preachers, who were ready for advanced classes.
More boys would soon follow. We saw that we must
have a school of higher grade, but had not the money
to engage teachers. All the money we had or could
obtain would have to be applied to the training of the
men and women needed for the immediate future. The
government had a school in Ongole which prepared boys
for high school, including English. If I could get ad-
mission into it for those three boys the problem would
be solved. A growing number of Christian boys and
lads would be given an education in line with the ex-
aminations conducted by the educational department of
the government at Madras. Success in this direction was
bound to affect the social status of the Christian com-
munity, and tend to obliterate the fact that its members
were drawn from the lowest classes. I pondered this
question a good deal. I talked with the English mag-
istrate. Judge F. H. Sharp, about it. We decided to
make a move in that direction. There was much risk in
it, but as there seemed to be a bare chance of winning,
I thought I ought to go ahead, feeling my way carefully.

Like a typical American I had democratic ideas of
education. An aristocracy of learning, as represented by
the Brahmans, was foreign to my way of thinking. I
had the British Government on my side. These three
boys were British subjects and as Christians were of the
religion of the ruling race. My first step was to lay
the matter before the native officials of Ongole, in order
to influence public opinion of the town through them.
I told them that we, in America, would not think of ex-
cluding anyone from our free schools. I urged upon
them that I was not asking admission for these Chris-

EDUCATION FOR AN ILLITERATE PEOPLE II9

tian boys to any school that belonged distinctly to the
Hindu community. I wanted the right of entrance for
them to a school located there by the enlightened Chris-
tian rulers of the land. They listened respectfully, and
told me they would place nothing in my way. They
gave me the right to try my scheme.

The headmaster of the school, a Brahman, invited
me to visit the school. I went at a time specified,
and found the tahsildar and munsiff of Ongole had also
come. The police inspector who had the task of protect-
ing me was there too. While I was talking in a friendly
way with headmaster and pupils, I saw those officials
in consultation. I joined their group. They told me
as their decided opinion that if I brought the Christian
boys into the school, all the present pupils would leave.
Probably their own sons and nephews were among these
pupils. I gathered from what they said that the sub-
ject had become the talk of the town. Definite opposi-
tion was the result. The parents and relatives of the
boys had threatened to make my attempt impossible. I
was not prepared to give up. I told them we would
await the return of Judge Sharp to Ongole, and went
home with a heavy heart. My diary says: "What the
result may be I do not know, but I believe that God,
who does all things well, will bring good out of this,
and that in the end his name will be glorified the more.
I do not know how, neither is it any of my business."

In relying upon the advice and cooperation of Judge
Sharp, I gave this important matter into the hands of a
man of extreme measures. Some years later he was
extreme in his own case and clashed with the policy of
the government which allowed no interference on the
part of its officials with the religion of the Hindus. He
took steps in being instrumental in the conversion of a
Hindu convict, sentenced by him to death for murder,

120 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

which brought censure upon him. The result was a sub-
ordinate position and the loss of half his pay. He
had to go to England and appeal to the secretary of
state in person before he could be reinstated. But I, at
this juncture in our history, trusted his judgment.

Some days after my visit to the school Judge Sharp
returned to Ongole. He took dinner with us one eve-
ning, and we talked over the situation. He was pre-
pared to use his power as the highest English official
at Ongole to the full extent. If it were possible to
override the prejudices of the Brahmans by the fact
that this school was for all, he was going to see it
done. He told me to send the three boys to school the
next morning. I did so. He sent one of his attendants
to see what had been done. The man came back and
reported the boys were not there, thinking he had thereby
postponed, and perhaps averted, a serious affair. Judge
Sharp sent me a note and asked me why I had not sent
the boys. I replied I had sent them. He saw that the
crisis had come, and went to the school. He found the
three boys on the steps outside. They had been refused
admittance even to the veranda.

Taking hold of the hands of the boys, to show that
he was not afraid of pollution, he walked into the school
with them. Before all, with the intention that it should
be reported over the town, he talked indignantly to the
headmaster, and told him that the government required
of its teachers that they should be enlightened men. He
did then what he must have known from his long ex-
perience in the country was too extreme a measure : he
made the Christian boys look over into the same books
as the Hindu boys, reading with them, and touching
them. He wanted the Hindus to see how harmless the
touch was; for these Christian boys were as clean and
bright as they. I heard of it all and realized that Judge

EDUCATION FOR AN ILLITERATE PEOPLE 121

Sharp had played at high stakes. There could be no
halfway result; it was either win or lose. My diary
says: ''The good Lord can work marvelous changes if
he please. The end will be right no doubt." The next
day, September 25, 1867, has the following entry: "The
Brahman boys have all left the school, so I hear, and
now only thirteen in all remain. Yesterday morning
there were over sixty in daily attendance." I say nothing
more. There my diary ends. No diary was kept during
all the year that was now before me.

Thus I found myself defeated. Still I was not going
to submit. I opened an Anglo-vernacular school. I en-
gaged a teacher and was going to make it a permanent
institution. But before two years had passed, the con-
verts were coming by the hundred, all as ignorant as
possible. We felt under great pressure to provide a
staff of workers by a short process of training. It split
up our energies to conduct a school aiming solely at
preparation for a high school course. At that juncture
we had to make evangelization our aim, and education
had to have for its object a speedy preparation of native
agency. Quantity was wanted just then; we could not
wait for quality. I closed that Anglo-vernacular school.
We put all our strength into Mrs. Clough's normal
school, and we obtained what we sought: a large staff
of workers.

Yet, take it altogether, I think that defeat was a
serious loss to us. We ought to have had well-educated
men right through the years. It crippled us at just that
point in our development. We lost twelve years or more
in our advance in educational development, and I do not
know whether we ever caught up. If that government
school had educated a nucleus of boys for us who would
have been ready for our high school when we did open
one, everything would have fallen into line. As it was,

122 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

we had scarcely a boy ready for high school classes when
we began such a school in 1880. A controversy then
broke out in the mission. Over no question from begin-
ninsr to end have I had such serious trouble as over the
question of the higher education of our Christians, and
it began in that defeat in September, 1867.

As for those Brahmans, there came another day, nearly
twenty years later, when I opened a high school in On-
gole for our Christian boys, and allowed the caste boys
to come to it, on payment of tuition fees. All went well
till a Christian boy was ready to enter the highest class.
Then the Brahman boys in it protested and left the
school and took most of the other caste boys with them.
It was a stampede once more. I sent out word that if
the Brahman boys did not wish to recite with the Chris-
tian boys, they could stay away, the school would con-
tinue just the same. They came back. By the time an-
other ten years had passed, a still greater change had
come over Ongole public opinion. A deputation of the
leading Brahmans of Ongole addressed a petition to our
missionary board in Boston, asking them to found a
college in Ongole where they knew our Christian lads
would sit side by side on the same benches with their
own sons.

It was a long road which I traveled between Judge
Sharp's well-meant attempt in 1867 and the founding
of the Ongole College in 1893. I^ meant twenty-six
years of hard work.

IX

A CRISIS AND MY ORDERS

That episode of our attempt to raise the status of the
Madigas by claiming for them the educational advan-
tages granted to all, theoretically, by the government,
became known over all that region. If thus far it had
been merely a matter of comment that only Madigas
were joining our mission, it now became a settled fact.
I had done something which practically locked the door
behind me. I could not retreat. Public opinion had
spoken a decisive word. I did not at the time see it in
all its bearings. But the die was cast. Ours was hence-
forth a Madiga mission. I becam.e the ''Madiga Dhora."

I was sustained at that time by the zeal with which
the outcaste came flocking to us. It did me good to
see how thirsty they were for the message of salvation,
and how gladly they believed in Jesus. They crowded
to our Sunday services. Our sitting room was soon too
small. The veranda too was filled to overflowing. It
was well that I had determined, even before we left Nel-
lore, that we must have a chapel. We wanted it in the
compound, facing the road. During the week it was to
serve as schoolhouse. I could not wait to get the money
from America. A spirit of giving and self-denial was
abroad among us. Generous subscriptions came from the
English officials of the district. A wealthy deacon in the
Madras Baptist church gave a liberal sum. The rest was

123

124 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

made up in small gifts. I gave much attention to the
building of it, and kept the expense down to about
$1,000. It was large enough to seat several hundred peo-
ple. Ten years later I enlarged it, and thus it still
stands. Before the doors and windows were in, or the
floor was laid, we held our services in it. I preached the
dedication sermon on October 13, 1868, from the text
"Prepare to meet thy God," Amos 4:12.

I had lost interest in writing a diary. I thought the
future held nothing in store that would be worth writing
about. Now and then I noted down incidents that struck
me as important, dealing with bare facts, like mile-stones
in my own experience. It was all in the way of adjust-
ing myself to the social institutions of the people.

Everywhere I was confronted by the powerful grip
in which caste w^as holding everyone. One day, as I
passed through the bazaar of Ongole, I saw an elderly
woman lying in a ditch by the road, uncared for, in con-
vulsions. I procured a mat, placed her on it, and did
what I could for her. I inquired whether there was no
one belonging to this woman. She had a brother living
in Ongole and a daughter ten miles away. I sent her
a message that her mother was dying. Neither she nor
the brother dared come near her. She had been out of
her mind for some days, had wandered here and therQ
and broken caste. To let her die in their home would
have meant expense for purifying ceremonies after-
wards; for the people of their caste would avoid them.
I was indignant. I saw that even family relationship
and the sacredness of death were as nothing in com-
parison to caste.

Another day, as I was passing the Brahman rest-
house of Ongole, a man lying on the veranda called to
me in distress. I went to him. He was a Brahman
pilgrim, on his way to the temple at Tripati for merit.

A CRISIS AND MY ORDERS I25

Sick when he arrived, the Brahmans living near the
rest-house took for granted that he had already broken
caste, and did not come near him. Some friendly Sudras
had offered him food but he was bound to refuse it. He
was now dying. His caste rules allowed him to take
medicine from me. The next day he refused that also;
he shut his teeth tight, as I held it to his lips. Over
night he died in great misery. The man had starved
to death rather than break his caste.

Then I learned how the English officials were obliged
to reckon with the prejudices of the native people. They
learned by bitter experience and passed the knowledge on
to each other. One of them took me into his confidence.
He owned a horse, a fine animal. It was stricken with
disease, and could not eat nor stand. As he was leav-
ing Ongole he wanted me to take charge of it, and
placed a liberal sum in my hands to pay for the horse's
keeper, and for the best medical treatment to be had. I
was to buy everything needful for the horse until it
died. By way of explanation, he intimated to me that
if he shot the animal the hostility of the native com-
munity would follow him to the next place, though
far away. Letters would be written to his superiors,
charging him with deeds he had not done. The of-
ficials under him in the next place would become in-
formed, and turn against him. To see an Englishman
thus avoid future trouble was a revelation to me. I
promised him that I would take care of his horse. Then
I listened to the comments of the people. They talked
of the horse as an intelligent animal, with the courage
of a man; they suggested that, perhaps, the nature of
some one of noble achievement, who died prematurely,
might now be dwelling in the horse, and it was well that
time was given it to die in its own way. I wondered
about it all.

126 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

Then something more was forced upon my attention.
Several Madigas of low type came to bargain with me
for the horse. They wanted it for purposes of food, and
offered to pay as much as one of them could earn in a
month, if I agreed to sell. I asked questions till I knew
how they viewed the subject. Then I refused. They
were angry and felt I had deprived them unreasonably
of something they wanted. I had heard that the Madigas
were carrion-eaters. It is one thing to hear; it is an-
other thing to come upon the actual fact. I had gone
to a Madiga hamlet of Ongole often, in the hope of
working a change. It was one of the worst of the
kind. Sometimes I could not remain. One afternoon I
saw them gathered together over something that in-
terested them. They scattered when they saw me com-
ing. Some were angry; some were ashamed. I went
home and no one knows how disgusted I felt, and how
sick at heart.

I saw that in all fairness I could not blame the caste
people when they gave me to understand that if I re-
ceived the Madigas all the rest would hold aloof. If I,
with all my Christian feeling of the brotherhood of
man, felt the tension, how could I ask them to overlook
the social disability of the Madigas ? Was there no way
out of this ? How had it come about that these outcaste
people were in such abject condition? They had been
held in it for many centuries. No one thought any-
thing else possible for them.

These prejudices were due to a historical sequence
of events. The Brahmans sometimes say that we Amer-
icans exterminate the aboriginal tribes whom we find in
possession of the soil, and that then we come over to
India and blame them for the way they treat their
Pariah tribes. They claim they did better than we;
they at least allowed them to live, and left them a place

A CRISIS AND MY ORDERS 12/

in their community, even though it was a humble place.
Perhaps this charge is not wholly unjust. There is a
chapter in our history of which we Americans say as
little as possible when we face Asiatics. Men hunt each
other down like wolves when the course of events offers
them the opportunity.

In the India of prehistoric times, the Pariah tribes of
to-day probably dwelt at a low stage of human develop-
ment. It is a matter of conjecture whether they be-
longed to early migrations of the Dravidians, or whether
they were pre-Dravidian. They were there when the
Dravidians came into South India, perhaps from the
lost continent Lemuria. There may have been inter-
tribal wars; there may have been amicable settlement.
The Sudras of to-day, who are the prosperous farmers
of the country, stand for the bulk of the Dravidian stock.
The relation between the Sudras and the Pariahs is down
to the present time on a paternal, protective basis. It
points to a time when all had their place in the com-
munity, cooperating in mutual service, and none was
despised. Madiga families for generations served the
same Sudra family. Marriage in the Madiga family was
delayed till the Sudra masters celebrated one. The
Madigas dwelt in a hamlet by themselves, as tjie Sudras
found them when they came into the land. But they
were allowed to come into the courtyard of the Sudra
home, to transact business.

The element of harshness came into the Madiga's life
when the Brahmans came into South India, several thou-
sand years ago. They were of Indo-Aryan stock and
had come from Central Asia. They looked upon the
Dravidians as inferior, though these Dravidians were
a powerful people, governed by kings, supplied with
ample wealth and resources. In different parts of the
Dravidian country four cognate languages were spoken,

128 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

of which the Telugu was one. Gradually the Brahmans
became the teachers of the people; they became advisers
to the Dravidian kings. The caste system, which they
brought with them, spread over South India. The Dra-
vidians found a place in it. Castes and subcastes were
evolved. Often a caste stood for a trade. Rigid lines
of demarcation were drawn between these castes. They
could not intermarry, nor eat together. On one point
all castes were united : a gulf was fixed between them-
selves and the outcastes. The Pariah tribes were left out-
side. The English Government has created the term
Panchama, meaning fifth caste, in order to give the
Pariah population a social standing. Since there was no
place for them in the four great castes of India, they
enter in as a caste by themselves.

This is only one sign of many, indicating the change
which has come since I began my work in India. The
Madigas, as I found them, were in a condition almost of
serfdom. In the communal life of the village, they not
only did the leather work, which to the caste people
meant pollution, they did everything else that others did
not want to do. They were the scavengers of the village.
They had to bear burdens from* place to place. They
were oppressed and downtrodden and there was no one
to help them.

I saw that it had come to this : If I continued to re-
ceive the Madigas I would have to identify myself with
them. Their sorrows would be laid upon me. The hard-
ships of their position would be mine to bear. Despised
on their account, rejected by the other castes, I would
have to begin at the bottom round of the ladder in India,
and see about climbing up, carrying the Madigas with
me. It all meant that a bitter cup was held to my lips,
and that I would have to drink it to the dregs. If I had
seen a way to do it honorably, I might have withdrawn

A CRISIS AND MY ORDERS 1 29

from Ongole. I think the sight of *Trayer Meeting
Hill" had a good deal to do with making me stay on.
If I was that man for Ongole, then I was elected to stay,
come what might. The words of Dr. Colver rang in my
ears, ''Brother Clough, I believe that God from all eter-
nity has chosen you to be a missionary to the Telugus."
I wrote little to America during that year of the crisis,
yet I must have had much that was good to report, for
we baptized seventy-six during 1868. A draft in pencil
of the following letter to Dr. Warren, dated June i,
1868, is among my papers. Perhaps I did not send it to
him, or perhaps he thought best to withhold it from
print, because of its despondent tone.

"1 have allowed some of the native brethren, who for-
merly belonged to the Madigas, to come into the house, to
take the baby, and play with our little Allen, and do er-
rands. I married two couples according to Christian cus-
tom. Therefore many are angry. They tell me I am tear-
ing down all the customs of their fathers. To show their
anger, they have taken their children out of our little
school, fifteen going in one day. They have tried to induce
our gardener and the woman who helps Mrs. Clough to
leave, threatening to beat or kill them if they did not leave
us at once.

'The story is also widely circulated that I am trying to
get as many to believe as I can in order to send them all
off to Europe, as soldiers, sailors, or slaves. This report
works harm. A young man came in from his village some
weeks ago and said he would be a Christian, and come back
in a few days to be baptized. He came after a month and
had a sad tale to tell. His own family had abused him be-
cause he believed in the new religion. His wife's family
had taken her from him, and would not let him have her
again, lest she also be sent to Europe.

"And so it is from day to day, and every day something
new.. We are in constant excitement. Our faith, ingenuity,

130 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

and wisdom are frequently sadly tried. Here we are in
the jungle, the great wilderness of heathenism all around
us. To look back is of no use. We can only look up and
go ahead, trusting in God to give us grace for every occa-
sion. Thus far he has not disappointed us. We believe he
will not."

Six weeks after the above was written, fifty or sixty
people were in the compound asking about Jesus the
Christ. After much teaching, inquiry and prayer, four-
teen were received and baptized. In the village of Co-
pole, three miles from Ongole, there was a small lake
which had been enlarged by digging. The village people
washed their clothes in it and drove their cattle into
it in hot weather to bathe and drink. We went there
for the baptism, because there was no suitable place
nearer to Ongole. Several hundred people had come
out from the village, and stood on the high bank of
the lake. They saw me give a sacred ordinance of my
religion to people whom they scarcely allowed to come
within ten feet of them. They pointed at me with de-
rision. Abusive words fell from their lips. They said
among themselves that they would sue me for defiling
the water of their lake by immersing these low people
into it. They afterwards sent me a message that they
would beat me and those who came with me, if we dared
to repeat this.

Thus reviled and threatened with violence, I had at
the same time to fight, almost, to keep some deluded
ones from worshiping me. Afterwards I took it all
with equanimity. Between attempts made to kill me and
attempts to worship me, God helped me to keep my head
level. But now, during the year of the crisis, I took
it hard. I wanted to go away and see no more of it.
In a letter to Boston, September 29, 1868, I related the

A CRISIS AND MY ORDERS I3I

case of a woman who told the preachers that she had
heard about the Lord Jesus some time ago from Periah,
who had passed through her village. She made a vow
that if her daughter, who was sick at the time recovered,
she would believe in him and worship him. Her daugh-
ter was well, and was now in Ongole with her, and she
therefore believed. The preachers felt some mistrust.
They asked, ''Where is Jesus Christ?" To my astonish-
ment and horror, the old woman turning around, pointed
her finger at me and said, ''He is Jesus Christ, and for
six months I have believed in him and prayed to him."

"I might enumerate similar instances, plenty of them,
but to write out this one, according to facts, makes me
shudder. . . . Like the great missionary to the Gentiles and
his companion, who rent their clothes (Acts 14:14), such
scenes make me feel very sad and sick at heart ; and, while
I exclaim, 'Sirs, why do ye these things? We are also men
of like passions with you, and preach unto you that you
should turn from these vanities and serve the living God' —
the feeling creeps over me that I should like to flee from
such scenes to a country where I should never see them re-
peated. But, of course, these feelings give way to better
ones, sent by the Comforter."

I came close to having good cause for going home
during that year of the crisis. While out on tour in
Podili, I had a severe attack of jungle fever. With dif-
ficulty I made the journey of thirty miles back to Ongole.
For a time I thought a decisive word had been spoken,
and that my work in India had thus come to an end.
But I recovered.

The year dragged on. It was a continual question in
my mind: Did I do right in admitting those Madigas?
Could I have entered into some kind of compromise?
But I was too democratic for a compromise. It would

132 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

have been against my religious convictions. I received
these Christians from the Madigas with open arms, as
fellow Christians and brethren in the Lord.

I was evidently not sure of my ground even toward
the end of 1868. Our third man, Rev. A. V. Timpany,
with his wife, was in Nellore, learning the Telugu lan-
guage. I wrote to him that I wished we had some great
Baptist authority within reach, who could weigh the
situation and tell us whether it is right to baptize one
class of people, when that forms a barrier to all the rest.
An old letter from him is among my papers, dated No-
vember 5, 1868, in which he refers to this.

"I rejoice with you in your joys and sympathize with
you in your trials. Go on baptizing, brother, those 'elect of
God.' A converted Madiga is as good as, and, if more
pious, better, in the eye of God than a converted Brahman.
God knows best how to work. He is working from the
bottom upward. According to our faith be it unto us. Hard
times you have, Brother Clough. Glad of it. Anything but
stagnation. We have no one here to decide on 'Principles
and Practices' except ourselves, but we, too, are 'titled' men,
and can serve till greater ones come."

Mrs. Clough had carried her share of the disappoint-
ment which had oppressed us all that year. Not only as
it affected me, but in her own activities she realized how
much was at stake. If her school was to have none but
Madiga pupils, and the staff of mission helpers was to be
wholly composed of Madigas, her expectation of the kind
of work she wanted to build up was bound to be lowered
considerably. We kept our house open and were ac-
cessible to the people, and let them "come near," and
get glimpses of our home life, li that stream of visitors
was to dwindle down to Madigas, mostly, it would make
a difference with her, too. We had been carrying this

A CRISIS AND MY ORDERS ^33

load together, and were now jointly given an assurance
that what we had done was right. We received what
was to us a direct command from God to continue in
our course.

One Sunday evening I was sitting in my study with
a weight on my soul that seemed insupportably heavy.
I had been out in Copole again, baptizing a group of
Madigas. Several hundred caste people had stood on
the bank as before, with threatening looks expressing
their contempt. It had come to be a situation from
which I could not retreat, nor was I willing to go ahead.

In a corner of my study there was a pile of about three
hundred new Bibles, recently sent by my order from
the Bible Society in Madras. English soldiers at that
time frequently passed through Ongole, on their way
between Madras and Hyderabad. They invariably came
to our mission house, and I had the custom of giving
each one an English Bible to take away with him. Sim-
ply by way of diverting my thoughts, I went to this pile
of Bibles, picked up one of them, and aimlessly let it
fall open of its own accord. I was startled to find before
my eyes the wonderful words of the Apostle Paul, I
Corinthians i : 26-29 •

"For ye see your calling, brethren, how that not many
wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble,
are called :

''But God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to
confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things
of the world to confound the things which are mighty ;

"And base things of the world, and things which are
despised, hath God chosen, yea, and things which are not,
to bring to naught the things that are ; that no flesh should
glory in his presence."

The impression made upon me, as I read these words,
was profound. It seemed like a voice from heaven. An

134 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

experience had come to me like unto that of the Apostle
Peter, when, on the house-top, in a vision, a sheet full of
unclean, creeping things came down before him, and he
was told to arise and eat. The centurion, Cornelius, was
even then knocking at his door, and with him the whole
pagan world. The Apostle Peter wanted the Jews to
believe in the Jesus whom they had crucified. In his
Jewish exclusiveness he looked with aversion upon the
coming of the Gentiles. He had been wrestling with
the question; for he knew that if the lower classes of
the Gentiles pressed into the kingdom, the higher classes
of the Jews would hold aloof. He now obeyed. The
church at Jerusalem called him to account, and when
he explained to them how God spoke to him in a vision,
**they held their peace, and glorified God." Thus did I
have to reconcile American Baptists to that which was
done in their Telugu Mission. The result in both cases
was that the common people came gladly.

While sitting deep in thought, trying to adjust myself
to the new point of view, Mrs. Clough came into the
room. She had put our two children to sleep. Before
she sat down, she went to that pile of Bibles, picked up
one, and let it open where it would. She stopped in her
reading, and remarked, "It seems to be God's plan to
save these outcastes first." I was amazed. I sat near
enough to her to see that her Bible had opened to the
same place as mine. It was not the same book; for
mine was still open before me. I asked her what led
her to this conclusion. She said it weighed on her mind
that more Madigas had been baptized that day ; she knew
what the effect would be. In order somehow to get
comfort and courage, she had gone to that pile of Bibles
and had picked up the nearest one, and had opened it at
random. Here were the verses.

I told her what my experience had been. It made no

A CRISIS AND MY ORDERS 135

difference to us that these Bibles were all recently bound,
and that, perhaps, all would open to the same place.
The great luminous fact to us both was, that we, inde-
pendently of each other, in the same manner, and almost
at the same time, had received the same word of com-
mand. God had spoken to us. From that moment our
doubts were gone. We believed that these poor, de-
graded Madigas were sent to us. We had our orders to
go to the most despised class in India and bring them to
the Lord Jesus. We went ahead, thereafter, nothing
doubting.

X

COMING BY HUNDREDS

The year 1869 was a great year in our history. The
converts had been coming in tens ; they now began to
come in hundreds. Nine years later was the day of
thousands.

I had shaken myself free from the fetters of doubt
and disappointment which had weighed me down, and
was ready now for anything. Believers, in small com-
panies, were constantly being brought by the preachers
into Ongole. I let them feel that their desire to follow
my Master Jesus was precious to me. The call came
from one village after another for my presence. I fol-
lowed eagerly every call. Wherever there was a vil-
lage where they were asking about Jesus, that was the
village where I wanted to go. No matter about the
hardship, I went — roads or no roads.

A movement was in progress among the Madigas.
We were all hard at work. The helpers, who had come
from Nellore with us, were full of zeal. Obulu, who
had prayed in his hut in the corner of our compound
for many years, was going far and near as colporter.
He was a Mala and could reach the Malas. Some came,
but they remained few in number. It was a tribal move-
ment. Word went over the land that a great salvation
had come to the Madigas. Periah and Paul were tire-
lessly going from one taluk to another. Given a band

136

COMING BY HUNDREDS 1 37

of workers like ours, something was bound to be
achieved. But our output of effort could not at all
adequately account for the results achieved. It was as
if the fuel had been lying ready, and we needed only
to strike the light; the flame spread of itself. In my
report for 1868 I stated:

"It is evident to me that the Madigas are given to Christ,
and that the time is near when thousands of them will be-
lieve to the saving of the soul. To see how they drink in
the words about Jesus would do you good. While preach-
ing to those poor people many times have the words of the
Master come to my mind : 'Say not ye, there are yet four
months and then cometh harvest? Behold, I say unto you,
lift up your eyes, and look on the fields ; for they are white
already to harvest.' These Madigas have not many preju-
dices to overcome, and not much property to lose if they
become Christians, but it requires just as much of a miracle
to regenerate one man as another, and in any case it is
nothing short of a miracle/'

In a cool, clear survey of the field, and speaking only
of the immediate future, I could point to the ingather-
ing that was already in sight. We were laying the
foundations at that time. If the work of those first years
had been less solid, if it had been the work of any
one man, or any group of men, and the Lord Jesus had
not been in it, the whole subsequent structure would
have fallen into ruins.

We began the year 1869 with a week of prayer. Mr.
and Mrs. Timpany were visiting us, deeply interested in
seeing the people athirst for the tidings of Jesus. Mr.
Timpany wrote to Dr. Warren at that time : ''Send us
men and means and by the help of our Master we will
gather this people by the thousands." On the first Sun-
day of his stay twenty-three came to our morning serv-

138 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

ice, asking baptism. He joined us in spending three
hours that afternoon with those inquirers. We listened
to their own experience; we heard them tell how they
believed in Jesus as their Saviour and desired to give up
their old life for the new. In every case there was some
one who knew them, who had taught them all they had
learned of the new religion, and who now stood ready
to bear testimony. Evidence of newness of life was
easily detected in the simple lives they led. Often there
was a look in the eyes that told the whole story. Out
of those twenty-three, twelve were received ; for the rest
arrangements were made that they might receive fur-
ther instruction.

There was an urgent call out to the Kanigiri taluk.
It was now a year since the baptism of the twenty-eight
at Tallakondapaud. Periah had been bringing converts
from this taluk with him to Ongole for baptism all
through the year. By this time there was probably not
a Madiga in all that taluk who had not heard about
Jesus Christ. Mr. Timpany went with me on this
tour. He was the first eye-witness to the work now in
progress. Many a man in the course of the years did
I take touring with me, none more heart and soul with
me than he. The Telugu language was still new to him,
but there was much for his eyes to see. The people
were expecting us everywhere. When we passed through
villages, they came out to the road to see us and hear
us. Where we pitched our tent we had no lack of
listeners. Everybody was in a receptive mood. We told
the people the story of Jesus. They listened, and as-
sented. They said they believed in him, but wanted to
learn more.

Mr. Timpany, as he looked on, counted more than one
hundred during our tour with whom assent had grown
into conviction. In this he was largely guided by the

COMING BY HUNDREDS I39

bearingf of the people; for he could only partly follow
the drift of conversation. He had helped in revivals
in America. The look on a white man's face, when
in his soul is performed that act which we call conver-
sion, is like the look in the face of even the humblest
Asiatic when he says he believes in Jesus, the Saviour,
and will follow him. We stayed several days in the
grove near Tallakondapaud. More than fifty people had
come from surrounding villages, bringing provisions
with them, determined to stay as long as we stayed.
Everything that was said and done was of importance
to them. Life had taken on a new meaning. There
were twenty-six asking baptism, of whom sixteen were
received.

The movement had had its beginning in the Kanigiri
taluk. It soon spread to the Podili taluk adjoining it.
There were in this taluk several Madiga families inter-
related, which stood above the average. They were
thrifty. Their huts were of ample size and kept in good
repair. They had a few crude pieces of furniture with
the needed cooking utensils. Each member of the
family had a suit of clothes to wear, and something for
extra occasions. There were a few head of cattle, and
a few acres of land. They were attached to some Sudra
families and helped to cultivate their fields, for which
they received their portion of grain at harvest time.
They also did leather work. It was possible for them
now and then to make an outlay of money for religious
purposes.

Along the line of religious devotion they had found
advancement in their social status also. They still kept
up the village worship, bowing before the idols set up
under the trees here and there and bringing gifts. All
castes thought it well to do this. In addition they had
for a number of years received teaching from wandering

140 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

Gurus, who were followers of the Yogi Nasriah. They
had learned from them to sing hymns and recite verses
that had mystical meaning. It was contact for them
with an Indian reform movement which had a tendency
to uplift them both religiously and socially.

The Yogi Nasriah had wielded a strong influence for
good over all that region. He was a Mohammedan ; his
name Nasr was given the Telugu ending, and the people
called him Nasriah. In his early years he had received
from a Yogi an initiation of an unusual order. Stories
were told of his supernormal powers, and the people
greatly revered him. Some wealthy caste people, who
had confidence in him as a Yogi, built him a temple at
Tiprantakamu in the Markapur taluk. They hoped thus
to obtain salvation for their souls. In this temple
Nasriah lived as an ascetic. People from far and near
came to him, and he taught them. In a simple way
which all could understand, he told them that there is
one God, and he is Spirit. He gave them an ethical code
similar to the Christian code. He forbade idol-worship.

Nasriah frowned on caste. He received all who came,
regardless of caste or sex or creed. As is customary
with a Yogi, he had a group of disciples to whom he
gave the inner teaching which is guarded by initiations.
There were many also who were coming and going, who
gathered something of the teaching and then went over
the country giving it out to the people in return for
gifts. Men of this kind were available to the Madigas
as Gurus, and they were glad to learn from them. It
was better than anything they had previously known.
After Nasriah's death, which probably occurred about
the year 1825, his followers became corrupt. He was no
longer there to rebuke them. They grew lax in ethical
precepts; they used intoxicants; they resorted to hemp
in order to produce trance conditions. Idol-worship was

COMING BY HUNDREDS I4I

permitted. Notwithstanding the decline in the original
strength of Nasriah's movement, it endured, and still
stands for something that is higher than the polytheism
of the Indian village.

It is said that Nasriah received a Madiga as disciple,
initiated him, and then sent him out to teach his people.
No one knows of this with certainty. But it is a fact
that there was a large contingent of Madigas in Nasriah's
movement; some said a thousand, some said less. They
were to be found in all the region where the Christian
movement afterwards spread with great rapidity. Nas-
riah had done preliminary work with the Madigas. He
gave them a place when they came to the annual feast
at Tiprantakamu. In groups, families together, they
came, walking many miles. Their gifts of rice, fowls
and spices were accepted. They were seated a little to
one side in the temple court, when the time for the feast
came, but they were given to eat of the same food, boiled
in the same pot from which the rest received. It was
a great advance for them in the social scale.

The Madiga followers of Nasriah only needed to hear
of Christianity and they wanted to know more. The
seeds of social revolution had been sown among them
by Nasriah. It remained to Christianity to make the
application. They had revered the personality of Nas-
riah. They now turned to Jesus with a devotion that
made them fearless of suffering. At Tiprantakamu it
was noticed that the Madigas had ceased to come to
the annual feast. It was now many years since Nasriah
had died, yet no one had dared dispute with the Madigas
the place he had given them. Perhaps those in authority
at the temple were glad when they ceased to come. They
said : "What can we do to hold them? They are follow-
ing a new religion. Let them go." We had three thou-
sand members when the ingathering came. Of these a

142 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

large proportion had called themselves Nasriah people.
The Christian movement absorbed the spiritual strength
which had been generated by that Indian reform move-
ment. It was taken over from one to the other, un-
sought, by a natural process of spiritual growth.

Those interrelated Madiga families in the Podili taluk
were all Nasriah people. Their attention was aroused by
rumors which were passed along about a new religion.
They were glad when Bezwada Paul came to them. He
was a kinsman, and though not a Nasriah man, he
had been on the path of Yoga, and spoke the language.
When they listened to him, far into the night, as he
told about Jesus Christ, his life and death, and when
they knelt with him when he prayed to his Father in
heaven, they felt they had never known anything like this
before. The younger men said among themselves : "Why
should we go on as heretofore? We have spent much
on Gurus. What salvation have they given us? Let
us go to Ongole." They were ready for action. It
seemed to them that a great day had dawned.

The aged father of the Thaluri family, a patriarch
among them all, asked them to take time to consider.
He reminded them that they had not been without re-
ligious zeal in the past. Moreover, he had a daughter,
who became a widow when a child. She had taken com-
fort in the teaching of Nasriah, singing the hymns. A
woman now, of mature years, she went about, teaching
and singing, serving God. She was dear to the old
man, and he insisted that she must be consulted, for had
she not more piety than they all? One of the sons,
Thaluri Daniel, afterwards a valuable man as Christian
preacher, was restless ; the sister was at a distant village.
He walked two days to reach her. She said: *T have
heard of this religion. It is well that you have the desire
to go to Ongole. Do not wait for me. Soon I shall re-

COMING BY HUNDREDS I43

turn home, and then I, too, shall make known my faith
in Jesus Christ/' The whole family came to us.

In the Darsi taluk, adjoining Podili, there was a man,
Sreeram Solomon, who had for years been a Nasriah
man, but while north, trading in hides, he had heard of
the Christian religion. He had made a compromise : he
still sang Nasriah hymns, but he prayed as he had seen
Vongole Abraham, the Christian trader, pray, and with
the words he had used. Filled with curiosity to see the
white Dhora in Ongole, he came. He arranged with
Obulu to help him sell tracts as he went on trade. Obulu
brought him to me. He said: "This man is not yet a
Christian, yet he offers to sell tracts. He has learned to
read a little." I liked the man. He was straightforward
and sincere in manner, and evidently resourceful beyond
the average. Ere long he was baptized. I asked him to
come to our school. He said he would come, but his
prosperity as trader was attractive to him ; he held back.

One day he came to my veranda while I was talking
with the people, and said salaam to me. I asked him how
he had been faring, and he proudly showed me thirty
rupees, rolled in a red cloth, just received for a bandy-
load of goatskins. I took the money and said : "This is
the fine for your wavering words. Four times you have
promised you would come to our school, and you have
not come. Salaam." I continued speaking to the people.
He stood there. It was a crisis in his life. He asked for
his money. I took him by the shoulder and gave him a
kindly shake. After that he had a feeling of nearness
to me that helped him much in his decision. I said,
"Here is your money. Will you come to school?" "I
will come." This man was afterward the leading preacher
in the Darsi taluk. The people gathered round him. The
time came when there were several thousand Christians in
that taluk.

144 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

The spread of Christianity in those early years was
very rapid. The wave now, during 1869, was going
north to three takiks which I had not thus far regarded
as my field. I had confined myself in my tours to the
Kanigiri, Podili and Darsi taluks southwest of Ongole.
A government engineer had been stationed at Ongole for
a short time and had been baptized by me. He was now
in those three northern taluks, building bridges and re-
pairing roads. Thousands of coolies were employed
under him, and he called for two men to preach to them,
promising their support. I sent one man without delay.
Then I saw how Baddepudy Abraham, though still in
school, showed distinct ability as an evangelist; for I
took him out on tour with me and found him valuable.
I asked him whether he felt a call to those northern
taluks — they were a hundred miles away from his home.
He said he wanted to go. It was the beginning of a
great work. During the ingathering more than three
thousand from that region were baptized. In 1883, when
those three taluks, Vinukonda, Nursarvupet and Ba-
patala, were made separate mission fields, the new mis-
sionaries all wanted Abraham. He had to divide his
time and serve as before. The man had become part of
the religious life in three taluks — the people could not
give him up.

Early in 1869 a beginning was made in the two taluks
west of Ongole, Cumbum and Markapur, under circum-
stances of so unusual a nature that the result was far-
reaching. The first clash between the old order and the
new took place in those taluks. Persecution broke out.
The people suffered for Jesus' sake, and far from being
intimidated thereby they rose out of it stronger than
before, and "many were added unto them," as in New
Testament times.

Periah and Paul were distantly related to some Madiga

COMING BY HUNDREDS I45

families in those taluks. This gave them opportunity to
enter everywhere. In the web of family life they were
passed along from village to village. They were here
close to the center of Nasriah's influence. The Nasriah
people among the Madigas received them with open arms.
Coming out of Raja Yoga teaching themselves, they
framed their message to the people in a way that greatly
appealed to them.

Periah and Nagama made long tours together. The
people loved them. The women were glad when Nagama
taught them. Periah, the man of fifty, with long beard
and patriarchal presence, the Guru-staff in his hand, made
the men feel that there must be something substantial in
this religion, or he would not be preaching it. Often he
began his discourses with some of the metaphysical state-
ments which he had used when he was a teacher of
Yoga. It was an Eastern method and congenial to the
minds of the people. They gave marked attention then
to the story of Jesus which followed, told with great
earnestness and power.

Paul differed from Periah. He was still a young man.
There was a bland, unworldly look in his face that made
his family say when he was a child that he was going to
be a sanyasi — a holy man or hermit. I tried to keep him
in school, but he was restless. If I did not give him per-
mission to go he went without it. He was possessed with
the desire to go to every Madiga hamlet in all that region,
omitting none. He wanted to stay long enough every-
where to tell the people that a great salvation had been
brought to India, and that no one now need go unsaved.
Jesus Christ had died for men, even for Madigas. All
that was needed was to believe in him, and to do as he
had taught men to do.

Somehow Paul kindled a fire wherever he went.
When, after some weeks of absence, he suddenly ap-

146 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

peared again in Ongole and told us where he had been
and how the people had received his message, I could not
reprove him for absenting himself suddenly from school.
I found it necessary to follow in his track ; for the people
whom he had met soon made themselves heard in their
desire to know more of this salvation. If this was for
them, they wanted it. My coming to Ongole was pro-
claimed to the Madigas of all that region in a way wholly
oriental by the two men, Periah and Paul.

When they reached those two distant taluks they had
an experience which was equaled nowhere else. Only
faint rumors had preceded them of a white Dhora, staying
at Ongole, who was sending two men everywhere telling
of a new salvation. They judged of this in an oriental
manner. It happens sometimes in India that a religious
personality, generally an ascetic with a band of disciples,
passes through some region on his way from one great
temple to another. Sometimes he stays, teaching those
who come, sometimes he moves on. The people are will-
ing to walk long distances if they can come into contact,
even once in a lifetime, with the bearer of a religious mes-
sage or with his disciples. All this they applied to the
tidings about me. Not until an increasing number of
them had come to Ongole and had seen for themselves
that I was there at home did they cease from their anx-
iety that they might miss their chance. They said, "He
has wife and children with him; he has come to stay."
They saw that Periah and Paul were only making a be-
ginning, and that I had men in school who would soon
settle among them. After that they said, "We will wait
till they come, and we can ask them more."

In the meantime Periah and Paul had a strenuous time
satisfying the people. During the night, when it was
cool and there was no work to do, groups of listeners
were formed. By the time the story of the life and death

COMING BY HUNDREDS 147

of Jesus Christ had been told in the hamlet where they
were staying, fresh groups were arriving from neighbor-
ing hamlets. They, too, wanted to hear all from the
beginning; for it seemed to them that by just hearing and
believing they could be saved. If, worn out, as morning
dawned, the preacher slept, they kept a man on guard
near by to prevent him from rising up and going away
silently and suddenly as is the custom of Hindu Gurus.
It took several days to satisfy the people in a group of
hamlets that they had now heard all that was needed in
order to be saved. By that time messengers sent by the
village elders of other hamlets were waiting, with orders
to bring the preacher, staying near by lest he go else-
where. There was travail of soul in all that region.

Everywhere the men were willing to let Periah or
Paul cut off the juttii — the lock of hair on the top of the
head which has religious significance. Sometimes a ma-
jority of the men in a Madiga hamlet were ready for
this, the elders among them. It was a decisive step that
meant a break with the old forms of worship. The wom-
en were often bitterly opposed to it, yet they, too, had
outward signs of an inward change. If they ceased to
mark their foreheads to show that they had bowed before
the idols, it could bring them great trouble. The caste
people took note. When the jtittus were gone, and the
marks on the foreheads were missing, it was often the
signal for petty persecution.

In his wanderings in the Markapur taluk, Paul heard
of a man who was praying to a new God, and was there-
fore at variance with his family. He went there. He
found the man, Vidulala Jonah, who told him that he
had been north on trade and had met Vongole Abraham.
From him he had learned about Jesus Christ. After his
return home he had knelt and prayed as he had seen the
Christians do. His mother had seen him, and had laughed

148 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

at him, and asked, "What new thing is this?" She was
a Matangi. When Jonah, her eldest son, was three years
old, she showed signs of possession. Out in the field, at
work, she looked this way and that, and talked to herself,
and refused to eat. As her grandmother had been a
Matangi, it was thought that the power must have reap-
peared in her.

The simple story of the Christ had here brought "not
peace, but a sword" into a family where possession was
hereditary. The whole taluk was bound to hear of it;
because this woman was their only Matangi ; she had no
rival. It touched the Madiga community near its heart;
for the Matangi cult distinctly belongs to the Madigas.
However much other castes may take an interest in it,
and share in it as something that may concern them, the
leading figure in the cult must always be a Madiga wom-
an. The supposition is that the Matangi is overshadowed
by Ellama, one of the ten great Saktis of India, a form
of Parvati, the consort of the god Siva. Ellama is to
find expression through the Matangi. Great care is taken
when a Madiga woman shows signs of possession, to as-
certain whether it is genuine or spurious. One who is
already a Matangi is sent for, sometimes from a dis-
tance, to make tests, and then to initiate the new Ma-
tangi into the rites of her office.

All this had been done in the case of Jonah's mother
many years before. Since then she had gone about the
taluk, her husband going with her, performing the sacri-
ficial rites of the Matangi. Not Madigas only surrounded
her when she poured buttermilk upon a bunch of Margosa
leaves and sprinkled the bystanders with it; caste peo-
ple also stood there. All believed in mother-worship in
some form. If by the signs of her possession this Ma-
tangi gave even slight evidence that the power of Ellama
was in her, they were anxious to come in contact with it.

COMING BY HUNDREDS ' I49

It might save them from the evil within them and with-
out ; for motherhood is a potent force.

Hard days came to Jonah when he now declared his
intention to enter that new religion. Paul had remained
in the neighborhood, and many had listened to him and
had admitted that it would be better for them if they
could walk in this new path. The time came for Paul to
return to Ongole. Jonah went with him. He wanted
baptism and was ready to face the outcome. It meant a
break with his family. Looking ahead, if his family
should ultimately come with him it meant that they would
lose a lucrative pursuit that gave them some standing in
the taluk. After the baptism Jonah returned home and
was treated by his parents as one hated. They refused
to let him sit with the rest at meal time. He bore this
for a time; then there came a day when he could bear no
more. He said, *T cannot be among you. I am going
away to stay with the Christians." Now the strong tie of
family relationship asserted itself. His mother missed
him. He had been her chief support as Matangi. She
tried to go about as usual, but it was all half-hearted.
With an unwilling ear she had listened when they talked
about the Lord Jesus. But she now found that she, too,
was believing in him. With a younger son she went to
the village where Jonah was staying. She asked him to
come home. She told him she had grown tired of the
Ellama worship and would join him in his new faith.

It now became a question with Jonah what to do to
satisfy the supporters of his mother. She stood in a kind
of contract with them. They had assisted in the heavy
expense of her initiation as Matangi many years before.
If she now withdrew, their hold upon the power of El-
lama ceased. If then disease came upon the people, and
crops failed, and cattle died, the blame would be laid
upon Jonah's family. A compromise was urged.

150 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

At this juncture Paul came to help them. He was
young for such responsible work. But he knew that he
had us all with him. Moreover, among the followers of
Yoga he had learned to look upon the Matangi cult as
a low form of possession. Now, as a Christian, his cour-
age was unbounded. He said to them, ''Are you going
wholly to become Christians, or are you going half and
half? n you are true, give me the Matangi outfit to de-
stroy." This was a serious matter to them. Jonah de-
cided, with Paul there to help him, to call together the
leading Matangi worshipers and lay the matter before
them. He said before them all: "What we did in the
jMatangi worship was evil. We put much expense into
it, but it is better that we should give up this than that
we should lose the salvation of our souls. Let us turn
from it all. Why should we keep the Matangi outfit?
With your leave I will give it over to Paul." These
straightforward words touched his hearers. They as-
sented. They said, ''You are the chief in this matter;
for you are your father's eldest son. We will listen to
your word."

The insignia of the Matangi office were now handed
over to Paul. He stood there before them all. First he
broke into small pieces the long stick, emblem of serpent
worship, which the Matangi holds in her hands. Next
came the basket which, filled with Margosa leaves, she
uses in her expiatory rites, remnant of ancient tree wor-
ship. Paul tore this into shreds. Next he reached out
for the pot containing the emblematical sea shells, sacred
to Ellama worship. Now the people rose against him.
They refused to let him touch the pot. Their anger had
grown within them, and they were unwilling to witness
further disrespect to their belief. The shells had been
brought from the sea, which stands for the woman. If
Ellama could commune with them through the shells they

COMING BY HUNDREDS I5I

were bound to hold them in high esteem. Often the
Madigas built a hut in their hamlet, and there was noth-
ing in it but a few pots containing sea shells.

It was a square contest. Paul and Jonah stood on one
side. The Matangi worshipers of the taluk stood on the
other. Their anger was fierce for a day. Paul and Jonah
were conciliatory, and talked to the people about the life
and death of Jesus Christ. Soon they listened with an
interest that made their old beliefs grow dim in their
minds. They forgot their anger, and said among them-
selves, "This is better than anything we have known."
It all made a stir in the taluk. No one had thought it
possible that such things could happen. The caste peo-
ple heard of it, and wondered how it was going to affect
them. Perhaps this was the reason why the Sudras and
Brahmans of the taluk decided to hold a feast for the
god Chinekaselu, a local deity, on the day of the full
moon.

The temple of this god was in the town Markapur, the
place where the taluk officials resided. In the Madiga
hamlet of the town there were now twelve Christians,
four of whom were village elders. In the division of
labor in the communal life of the town it fell to the Madi-
gas to perform a part in the festivities. There was a
large drum, iron on the sides and bottom, leather on top.
No one could beat this drum but the Madigas, because the
contact with the leather meant pollution. As the top was
broken, the temple authorities sent a messenger to the
Madigas to cover it with a new hide of the best kind.
They were also to furnish men for the days of the festi-
val to beat the smaller drums and to dance before the
idol when it was taken in procession through the streets
of the town. It was a test case perhaps purposely ar-
ranged to see how far the Christians were prepared to go.

They were now in a hard place. In the Matangi cult

152 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

they had settled the question in their own way, because
it was their own tribal cult ; but this new demand was a
different matter. They would have to disengage them-
selves suddenly from their old-time duties. There would
be the caste people to face. It would mean much loss to
them, not only by incurring the displeasure of their
superiors, but because a temple festival was a lucrative
time that always brought gain to the Madiga hamlet.
However, they said to the messenger, "We are now
Christians and cannot have anything to do with idol-
worship."

The karnam of Markapur, a Brahman, sent for those
village elders. They held their ground. They told the
karnam that they had learned that God had forbidden
idol-worship, and as they had become Christians they
must obey God's law. The karnam and the caste people
looked upon it all as sheer insubordination, and decided
upon coercive measures. One of the elders was known
to have a hide in his hut, suitable for the drum. Con-
stables were sent to get it, and to use force if necessary.
The owner of the hide remonstrated and was severely
beaten. Men who tried to help him were also beaten.
The hide was carried off.

There was an English magistrate in the adjoining
taluk, and the Christians felt they must appeal to him.
They laid the injured man on a light cot and had carried
him just beyond Markapur, when the karnam sent con-
stables to arrest them all, and put them in jail. Witnesses
from the hamlet also were brought and locked into jail.
There were sixteen men in all. It was a long, dark
night. When morning dawned the women came and
stood under the prison windows and cried. Jonah and
another man, Onguri Abel, both afterwards ordained
Christian preachers, were inside and were keeping up
their own courage, and helping the rest. The man who

COMING BY HUNDREDS I53

had been beaten lay on the hard prison floor in great
pain. One of the keepers was disposed to be kind. He
allowed the wife of the man to hand steaming cloths
through the window, so that Jonah and Abel could lay
them on the bruises till the pain grew less.

In the course of the day the men were taken before
the submagistrate, a Brahman. Accusations were made
against them falsely. Witnesses were brought forward
for proof. The Christians had no means of defense and
were sentenced to thirty days' imprisonment with hard
labor. To add insult to their hardship they were set to
work in the Vishnu temple grounds. Exposed thus to
the jeers of bystanders, they were frequently asked:
"How do you like being Christians? Will you learn to
read now? We shall keep you here till your jtittus
grow again." It was in the hottest part of the year.
The prison was only eighteen by forty feet in size, cov-
ered with a low, flat roof, the door was kept locked, and
there were but three small windows. The ground was
overrun with insects. Only twice a day the keeper gave
the prisoners water to drink. It was misery enough to
test the faith of the strongest.

When they were thrown into jail Jonah and Abel told
some reliable Madigas who had gathered with the crowd
of onlookers, "Go at once and tell our Clough Dhora
what has happened." The man walked the seventy miles
in quick time. If I had seen how to take legal action I
would have done it at once. I sent out two men with in-
structions, but their courage failed them when they
reached Markapur. My message, however, reached the
men inside, "Sing and pray; for such things happened
even to the Apostle Paul." The first consternation of the
prisoners was by this time over. They decided on a defi-
nite course which practically meant triumph to them.

Jonah was the leader. He was young in the Christian

154 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

life, and had not learned much of New Testament his-
tory, but he knew that the apostles were great men in the
Christian religion. It comforted him and the others to
know that this tribulation which had so suddenly come
upon them was no disgrace, but somehow was part of
Christian experience. Jonah now began to talk con-
stantly of the sufferings and death of our Lord Jesus.
He spoke of the nails driven through hands and feet, the
crown of thorns, the stripes that were laid upon him, all
borne for the sins of the world. He made light of the
hardships of that prison and said they deserved them be-
cause of their own past sinful lives. That he was repeat-
ing the same statements over and over again, day after
day, did not trouble him. There was a hymn which he
now sang. As yet it was the only Christian hymn he
knew. He sang it all day long. The keepers told him
to stop — they were weary of it. Jonah said, "I cannot
stop. This hymn is what I must sing, and I have to sing
it all the time." The others joined him. The days
passed. The officials at Markapur learned that I was in
constant communication with the prisoners, and thought
best to release them earlier.

The deed was done. A keynote of the movement had
been struck. It was the first clash between the Madigas
and the whole system of oppression which had held them
for centuries. These men had suffered, but they also had
been glorified. That whole region marveled greatly. The
sudden and wrongful imprisonment of sixteen men had
caused comment. But when the tidings went over the
country that these men were singing and praying to their
God inside the prison, and that the keepers could not
stop them, the people walked long distances to see and
hear for themselves. Outside the prison there had been
a constantly changing group of people, chiefly Madigas,
but also caste people. When not at work on the temple

COMING BY HUNDREDS 155

grounds, the prisoners had been continually singing and
praying. No one had ever heard of anything like it.
Spiritual power was generated that made itself felt for
years to come.

The heat had been unusually severe during that hot
season. Lakes and rivers were nearly dry. It happened
several times that the preachers brought converts with
them to Ongole on the first Sunday of the month, and
there was no place where we could find sufficient depth
of water to baptize them. The threats of the people at Co-
pole to beat us if we came again did not drive me away,
the scarcity of water did it. I decided to build a baptis-
tery under a large tamarind tree in our garden. It was a
beautiful shady place. An idol-shrine had stood there
since time immemorial. The people of an adjacent ham-
let had worshiped here, with bloody sacrifice and the
dance of possession, performing low rites of Sakti wor-
ship. With a good deal of difficulty I had had the boun-
dary lines settled. The place where the shrine stood be-
longed to us.

When those villagers heard that I intended to demolish
their shrine they threatened to beat anyone who touched
it. I made short work of that matter. I took a crowbar,
ran it into the shrine and threw the stones and mortar
right and left. The preachers and the men in our school
were all there and did the rest. If the villagers had fallen
upon me there would have been an even, square fight with
my men. They looked on, expecting me to fall dead be-
fore their eyes, stricken by the demon which they said
had its abode in that shrine. Nothing happened to me.
The place was cleared, and we built our baptistery, in
which since then many thousands have been baptized.

We now had an experience which was early Chris-
tianity over again. A large group of men from Marka-
pur, including those who had been in prison, came to our

156 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

monthly meeting on August i, 1869. Converts, too,
came from that direction. They had seen persecution
and were not afraid. Men from other parts of the field
were there, the women with them. The sense of Chris-
tian fellowship was strong within them. What had hap-
pened concerned everyone, for it dealt with conditions
which all were facing. In the name of Jesus they were
going to shake themselves free, not only from idol-wor-
ship, but from their abject servitude. Religious fervor
with a touch of martyrdom was fostering a spirit of
social revolution. It caught them all. I looked on and
was amazed. They knew they had me on their side.
My heart went out to them. I was ready to fight for
them and with them.

We dedicated our new baptistery that Sunday by im-
mersing forty-two in it. In the evening we met together
in the chapel to commemorate the dying love of our
Saviour. It was nine o'clock. We sang a hymn, but no
one was willing to go. They wanted me to stay with
them and tell them what they must do in the coming days.
If they refused to render service to the Sudras and Brah-
mans as formerly, persecution would be the consequence.
Where should they yield and where should they stand
firmly against their oppressors? I had to put myself in
their place and learn intimately the conditions in which
they lived. We all felt the close tie which was binding
them to each other and to me. They begged for my pres-
ence out in the direction of Markapur. I promised to
come soon. Thus we talked far into the night, as the
Christians in the early centuries talked together of suf-
fering to come. It gave us a sense of strength and power
that could come in no other way.

A month later I went to those distant taluks. The
people gathered, hundreds at a time, to hear me. Many
with tears in their eyes told me they believed in Jesus,

". . . An idol shrine had
stood there since time immemorial
. . . under a large tamarind
tree in our garden. . . . The
place was cleared, and we built
our baptistery, in zchich since then
many thousands have been bap-
tised. . . ."

THE BAPTISTERY AT UNGOLE

". . . We dedicated it by immersing forty-two in it, August i, 1869.
. . _ . They had seen persecution and zvere not afraid. . . . We talked
far into the night, as the Christians of the early centuries talked together of
suffering to come. Religious fervor with a touch of martyrdom was fostering
a spirit of social revolution. . . . In the name of Jesus they were going to
shake themselves free."

COMING BY HUNDREDS 157

but if their oppressors were already harsh to them, what
would happen if they openly declared that they had be-
gun a new life? I told them to love the Lord Jesus more
and fear men less, and all would be right. But my heart
was heavy as I looked on, and found myself powerless
to help as I wanted to help. I sought an interview with
the karnam of Markapur. He said he knew nothing of
that imprisonment, and did not even know that there
were Christians in that region. I saw through his lies.
I intimated to him that I would do everything in my
power to protect the Christians from insult and persecu-
tion, and reminded him that we were under English gov-
ernment. Such interviews I often had. Lies were told
to me; trickery was used on me. I stood it all, for I
knew how much was at stake for the Christians. The
Lord Jesus had to help me. The situation required much
wisdom and patience.

On this tour I baptized fifty-one. I stayed in many
villages, and preached in many places. I saw that hun-
dreds were ready so far as believing in Jesus the Saviour
was concerned. They needed Christian teaching. I sent
our workers, men and women, all along the road I had
gone, to teach the people the leading facts in the life of
Christ, the Ten Commandments, and something of Chris-
tian doctrine. All were anxious to learn. A few months
of this teaching made a great difference. They became
established in their faith.

Meanwhile there was a steady increase at Ongole.
Early in November, 1869, the preachers came to the
Communion service and brought seventy- four converts
with them. My diary says, *'A glorious time, indeed."
This was the largest number we had yet reached at one
time. Two months later they brought fifty-six. There
was an ever-increasing movement now spread over five
taluks. It was strongest at the outposts, seventy miles

158 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

from Ongole. The force of men whom I had left out
there urged me to come — they were overpowered by
numbers. I went. I met with hardships on the way.
The Gundlacumma River was in flood, yet I managed to
get across and pressed on. There were places where
four or five hundred people came to my camp, prepared
to stay all day, drinking in every word they heard. When
I stopped talking the preachers took up the story.

In central places, by the banks of rivers, there were
baptismal scenes like those of the early centuries of the
Christian era. These men and women had gone through
definite Christian experience. I felt no hesitation in re-
ceiving them into the church, even though they came in
large numbers. There was that about them which gave
evidence of their steadfastness in the faith. Three hun-
dred and twenty-four were added to the church during
that tour. Hundreds begged to be numbered with us;
they said they believed in our Lord Jesus, and I knew
by the look in their faces that they were telling me the
truth. I left a force of men and women out there to
teach them, and told them that in due time they would
be welcomed as members.

I went back to Ongole and felt that God was with us.

XI

A SOCIAL REVOLUTION

With the tidings about our Lord Jesus three pre-
cepts were proclaimed to the Madigas of all that region.
They contained a demand for a rearrangement of every-
thing that constituted their world. Many listened and
then put off hearing more ; they were afraid of the conse-
quences. Others eagerly took hold. They grasped the
fact that this was the way for them to rise out of their
abject position. It found them ready.

Those three precepts were : Do not work on Sunday ;
do not eat carrion ; do not worship idols. They all went
straight against the cooperative system of the Indian
village.

In social ideals nothing could have been farther apart
than I, with my American respect for individual rights,
and these Madigas, bound up in a system where the com-
munity was everything and the individual counted as
nothing. I adapted myself to the people, and my Ameri-
can ways of thinking became to a considerable extent
merged into their oriental way of dealing with each other.
I let Christianity find a place for itself in the common
village life, and expand along the lines of the old-time
manner of thought and life. But my conciliatory attitude
came to an abrupt stop where the question of individual
rights came in. There I was ready to fight for the Madi-
gas— and fight I did.

159

l6o SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

I did not realize when I began work in Ongole that
some of the simple Christian precepts which I was giving
out to the Madiga inquirers were of a kind to strike a
blow at the ancient system of the Dravidian village com-
munity. The bulk of Christian teaching caused no ripple
of dissent. Where so many kinds of worship dwell side
by side, as in India, a new form would not have called
forth special religious intolerance. If the Madigas had
simply accepted Jesus Christ as their Master, and had
prayed to him and found their souls' salvation in him,
no one would have opposed them or persecuted them.
Most of the ethical teaching of Christianity, too, was ac-
cepted without question. If I told them they must not
steal, they must give up their practice of marrying their
children in infancy, they must speak the truth — they as-
sented. Indian reformers, like the Yogi Nasriah, had
thus taught. They could rearrange their lives in ac-
cordance with this teaching and no one would be dis-
turbed or set at variance. It was different with those
three precepts : they were like a battle-cry.

India, at that time, was in a state of transition. The
coming of the white man was recent, but the result was
already apparent. The old hard lines of the communal
life were being effaced. Men disengaged themselves little
by little. The Pariahs, standing outside the lines of the
caste system, were accessible to a disintegrating force.
They had nothing to lose and much to gain. To them the
Christian appeal contained the seeds to a social uprising.
If they obeyed those three precepts a labor war on a
small scale was in sight.

Periah and the men who soon grouped themselves with
him as leaders of their people were not in favor of com-
promise. They knew what those three precepts meant
to the Madigas. I was in my formative period and was
always ready to listen when they told me their side of

A SOCIAL REVOLUTION ' l6l

any question that arose. If they had advised me to leave
those three rules in the background and not bring pres-
sure to bear upon the converts to heed them, I v^ould
probably have yielded so far as I could. It would have
made the situation far easier for them and for me. But
that was the course which they did not take. Those three
rules were heralded over the country. Many of the old
men afterwards said they heard of these first, and the
tidings about Jesus Christ came to them afterward. Men
inquired of each other whether they intended to live by
those three precepts. They were gaining strength by
numbers.

The first of the three rules, Do not work on Sunday,
affected their relations to their employers, especially their
Sudra masters. It was considered fortunate for Madiga
families when they could serve the same Sudra families
for generations. Often the attitude of the masters to-
ward their serfs was protective and kind. But under the
prevailing system the reverse was possible. Especially
when the Madiga went into debt, the Sudra could prac-
tically own him; he could oppress him so that he could
hardly call his life his own.

When now the Madigas asked for one day in seven, on
which they could rest and meet together to serve their
God, it called for a readjustment of their relations to
their Sudra employers. The Hindus had days set aside
for religious observances. Many of these were feast
days, in which the Madigas, in a humble way, were al-
lowed to share. Indian forms of worship came into
prominence during those feast days. The Christian Mad-
igas were bound to withdraw from them. This might
have been permitted without opposition. But they now
made a demand for one day in seven. There was friction
in consequence. The Sudras found themselves com-
pelled to arrange their field work in a way to meet this

l62 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

demand of their old-time serfs. Perhaps they were some-
times irritated unnecessarily by the Christians when they
insisted they must obey this law of their God. I might
have been more conciliatory in my attitude toward the
question if my father's Puritan ideas of keeping the Sab-
bath holy had not become so deeply rooted in my re-
ligious conscience. I tried to enforce a strict observance
of the Sabbath, and it caused trouble everywhere.

The Christians often appealed to me. Sometimes re-
adjustment came as a matter of course ; sometimes fric-
tion ended in peaceful settlement; sometimes the people
felt that the Lord Jesus himself must have helped them.

The Madiga families in the Podili taluk, which were
among the first to come to us, formed an entering wedge
that helped all the rest. The case was typical ; for these
Madiga families stood above the average, and the Sudra
families to whom they had been attached for generations
included the mitnsiff, the head man of the whole village
according to ancient Dravidian order. The Madigas told
them in a respectful way that they had become Chris-
tians, and that this meant a change to them in various
ways. They asked to be excused from work on Adiva-
ramu — the first day of the week. This refusal to come
to work at all times as heretofore vexed the Sudras.
They decided to teach the Christians their place in the
community, and let them learn the result of the stand they
had taken. It was then harvest time. During all the
previous months the Madigas had helped plow and till
the soil. It was now their right, according to ancient
custom, to help in the harvest, and receive their share of
grain. The Sudras, to enforce the lesson, thrashed their
grain on Sundays, and the Christians thus lost their
portion. This was done on several consecutive Sundays.
The Christians felt it keenly: it was an injustice, and it
meant, to them, a heavy loss.

A SOCIAL REVOLUTION 1 63

Then there came a Sunday when the Sudras were
again out on the fields thrashing their grain. The aged
mother of the munsiff had stayed at home. She made a
fire to boil a little milk. While she was away for a few
minutes the fire touched a basket of bran standing near,
which soon burned lustily. Before the men could be
called from the field ten of their houses were destroyed
by fire. All the grain that had been gathered on those
Sundays to spite the Christians was burned. The old
mother ran away to hide herself for half a day, and
when she again appeared, half distracted, she wailed,
"God sent it as a punishment." She had been harsh in
her attitude to the Christians, and had been in favor of
depriving them of their rightful portion of the harvest.
That she should have been the cause of so much loss
seemed to all a judgment from God. It ended the strife
in that taluk. Everywhere the Sudras thought it best
to run no risks. They attended to small tasks on Sun-
day, and did their important work during the six days
when the Christians could join them. This incident was
soon reported in all the taluks where the movement
spread, and it had an undoubted effect. The Christians
thought that our Master Jesus had helped them in their
difficult position. I told them they were right about this.

The second rule, Do not eat carrion, also had a direct
effect upon the relation of the Madigas to their employers.
It concerned the leather work which they had to do for
the whole village. There were sandals to sew, trappings
to make for the bullocks, and large leather buckets to
make and keep in repair for bringing the water up from
deep wells to irrigate the fields. The arrangement was on
a cooperative basis. The people who represented various
trades in the village served one another with the labor
of their hands, giving of their produce in exchange.
None had so small a margin of profit allotted to them as

164 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

the Madigas. Nor was theirs a clean poverty; the con-
ditions of their occupation had lent themselves to de-
grading practices that made them abhorrent to other men.

The Hindus never allowed the slaughter of cattle for
purposes of food. When cattle died of disease, or old
age, or starvation, the Madigas were called. They took
the animal to their hamlet. In return for the hide they
agreed to furnish leather articles, according to its size.
The carcass was theirs as part of the bargain. In that
hot climate this meant pollution. The Madiga hamlet
was full of filth. Going hungry many a day in the year
produced a willingness to eat what no one else would
have touched. The consequence was that the men and
women had poisoned blood in their veins. The children
were full of sores. The Madiga hamlet was a place
which no one wanted to enter. It was always separate
and a little to one side of the rest of the village. Any-
one who wanted anything from the Madigas, whether the
collector of taxes or the man who called them to work —
stood a long way off and transacted his business quickly.

This was the curse of their lives. They knew it. Their
tribal legends were full of this idea. In some of them
an Aryan sage, long ago, pronounced a curse over them ;
in others the tribal ancestor was responsible for their
degradation. There were stories of a terrible famine
which came upon the land at a remote time, when the
Madigas held a respected place in the community. In the
pangs of starvation they gathered about a bullock that
had died, and ate in order to live, and never after were
they able to raise their heads.

With the help of Christianity they now fought that
curse and rose above it. I helped them. For my own
sake I wanted to see them make a break with their past.
This cause of their degradation was intolerable to me.
Sometimes I felt I must do something to preserve my

A SOCIAL REVOLUTION 165

own status. White men at that time were few in that
part of India. The caste people could not understand my
motives; they did not see why I should identify myself
with the lowest portion of their social life. Groups of
Sudras used to come to my tent when I was out on tour —
fine looking- people. I spread mats for them and asked
them to stay. I wanted them to feel that I was as one of
them. I said that in my own country my father was a
wealthy landowner like themselves, that he had a farm
of a thousand acres, more fertile than any they had ever
seen, that he had ten horses in the stable and cattle in the
pasture, and that I as his son had been given a portion
of all this. They wondered about it. It did them good.
It helped the Madigas. The fact was repeated wherever
the movement spread that ''the Ongole Dhora" was not a
man without caste in his own country. Lack of food and
clothes did not bring him to India. Moreover, he was a
man who acted as if he could earn anywhere enough for
himself and his wife and children. Then why had he
come to India, bringing this religion to the Madigas ?

That rule against eating carrion was probably never
before framed and brought into force in all the propa-
ganda of Christianity. We made it a stringent rule in
the beginning. During all the first ten or twenty years
candidates for baptism were asked whether they agreed
to abstain from this practice. Afterward the younger
generation would have felt insulted had we asked them.
In the old days it meant a good deal. A lapse in this re-
spect indicated that there was a reversion to the old man-
ner of life. When the preachers reported that a village
of Christians was reverting to heathenism they always
added : "They are eating carrion again." It was not
because they loved their degradation. They had been
without work and had gone hungry. Everything was
dragging them down.

l66 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

I sometimes stood before the men and women of a
village where they were weak Christians, and felt a sense
of personal shame. They admitted their fault; they still
wanted to serve the Lord Jesus; they lacked the will to
rise to a purposeful life. My last appeal to them some-
times was on my own behalf. I said to them : "Oh,
men ! I am not ashamed to be the Guru of poor people,
for Christ said he had come that the sick might be healed
and the poor have the gospel preached to them. But when
I see weak Christians before me then I have a pain in my
mind, and I wonder why God has chosen me to be the
Guru of such dirty people." This appeal often went
home to their hearts. A look of shame passed over their
faces. The women involuntarily stroked down their un-
kempt hair ; the men looked at each other.

There was unrest everywhere. The Sudras had to
learn to make with the Madigas bargains that concerned
only the hide. The traders in hides had to settle on new
rates when the carcass could not be thrown in as part of
the sale. But the sharpest clash was in the family
circle. When one sat apart at meal-time because carrion
was boiling in the pot, it was a change that affected the
solidarity of the family. The women especially resented
this. "Do you see him? He will not eat. He, too, is
going to that Ongole religion!" Where the Christians
were in the majority in a family, they sat on one side and
ate clean food. They refused to allow the others to
touch their cooking utensils or earthen plates. They
said, "We turn sick when you touch our food. You are
unclean." Instead of being ostracized, they were the ones
who ostracized the others. Thus they fought the curse.
Public opinion was formed. The women took it up.
Everybody began to feel forced into line. Clean family
life and clean hamlets were the result.

It would seem that the third precept, Do not worship

A SOCIAL REVOLUTION 167

idols, was wholly directed to the religious conscience of
the individual, and had nothing to do with the communal
life. This was not the case. For some cause, which lies
in a remote past, the Madigas performed important func-
tions whenever a festival was arranged for idol-worship.
It was the duty of the Madiga headmen to furnish men
from their hamlet for this, as many as were required. In
return they received payment in kind, in accordance with
the cooperative system of the village. The beating of the
drums was the business of the Madigas; no one else
could touch them. There was a reason for the impor-
tance given to the drums. It was thought that invisible
spirits, which hover close to the earth, would perceive
the peculiar vibrating din of the drums and could thereby
bring themselves in touch with the worshipers. They
would be appeased, and would refrain from sending evil
upon the community.

Then there was the dance of possession — the sivam —
which only the Madigas could perform. When, during
the festival, the time came to take the idol in procession
through the main street of the village it was a leading
feature to have Madigas dance before it. In the various
forms of nature-worship, as practiced in the Indian vil-
lage, the sivam had a place. The men elected for it were
given drugs that partly stupefied, but gave abnormal en-
durance in keeping up a swaying motion by the hour.
Sometimes they uttered words and groans, and showed
symptoms of possession, and then it was thought the
invisible being represented by the idol was finding expres-
sion through them. This was considered satisfactory.

The intention back of it all was that the Madigas
should identify themselves with the fiends and demons
of the land, and keep them in check. Then there would
be no smallpox, no cholera, no cattle disease, and no
famine. This had been considered their task for manv

1 68 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

centuries. When the Dravidian invaders came upon
them, in the remote past, they probably found them per-
forming these rites. They allowed them to continue,
for they themselves were demon-worshipers. Nor was
there any change when the Indo-Aryans came into the
land. They had their high conceptions of religion and
their sacred books. But as they wanted to be the teachers
and priests of the Dravidians, they found it necessary to
adapt themselves more or less to their religious ideas.
The result was a mixture between Aryan and non-Aryan
cults. The lowest of all the cults were those which the
Madigas performed with the shedding of blood and hide-
ous rites. The Brahmans and the Sudras had combined
in holding the Madigas to their task. As the belief in
demons was general, no one was willing to release the
Madigas from their intermediatory position.

It now happened in the spread of Christianity that
whole villages of Christians refused in a body to perform
their old-time duties at some festival. They said : '*We
cannot beat those drums. We cannot have anything to
do with idol-worship. We are Christians.'* There was
often risk that this announcement would call forth vio-
lence. It took courage to make it. The refusal was not
viewed as a religious change : it was considered a labor
strike; a species of rebellion against the village com-
munity. The clash was not only with the Sudras ; it was
also with the Brahmans. The element of harshness came
in. The Madigas were in the grip of their oppressors,
and there was often more suffering than I could face on
behalf of the people without taking every step possible
to defend them.

Fortunately we were under British rule. The procla-
mation of religious liberty had been issued to all British
subjects in India when the government was transferred
to the Crown in 1858. This was good; we could ask for

A SOCIAL REVOLUTION 169

nothing more. But how to get the application made to
the Pariah class — that was another question. Intolerant
native officials of every grade had to wheel into line and
adapt themselves to the white man's views of liberty and
toleration. It took them many years. We missionaries
there did a service. Close to the people, we taught many
a village official that he must obey not only the letter of
the law given by the Christian rulers of the land; the
spirit of it must be obeyed. A great change has come in
the course of the years. Enlightened Hindus are lending
a hand to uplift this submerged tenth of their population.
There was nothing of this kind in the days when I began
work.

The Lord Jesus must have given me my task, for to
him the common people came gladly. It was a situation
like that of New Testament times. The religious hier-
archy of that region had refused me. I found my place
in the English system of authority and order, but I went
a step farther. A typical American of the most demo-
cratic type, I had as a constituency a democratic religious
body to support me. Dr. Warren was strong in holding
me to the democratic principles of our denomination.
No wonder that the outlaws — the Pariahs — came. They
were the only group of people who were available for an
experiment in reducing democratic religious principles
to practice. When now they tried to effect their release
from the social system, which was hardened by the sta-
bility of many centuries, there was opposition. The Lord
Jesus helped us through it all. We stood our ground,
and were not defeated.

In all the oppression under which our Christians suf-
fered there were seldom definite acts that were a direct
violation of law. Where there were such acts I engaged
legal advice and helped the Christians fight out the case.
I always ran the risk of failure. False witnesses against

170 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

them could be bought with a few coins. The native offi-
cials who generally tried such a case were full of re-
sources to shield those of their own caste. Nevertheless,
the caste people knew that I was always on the alert,
ready to bring the force of the law upon them if I could.
That in itself acted as a deterrent.

One case of persecution in the Kanigiri taluk was
taken into court by the Christians. It had had the usual
preliminaries: cattle disease was prevalent, the wells
were running dry, there was fear of cholera. The caste
people thought this must all be due to the fact that the
Madigas had refused to do their share in appeasing in-
visible forces. There was a temple in the taluk to An-
kalama, like Ellama, one of the ten great Saktis in India,
all a form of Parvati, the consort of Siva — the Destroyer.
Parvati is thought to go forth at times for carnage. The
terrible in nature is ascribed to Siva and to her. She
delights in destroying as well as in recreating. All fear
the power of the Sakti, no matter what the caste, or what
otherwise the mode of worship may be. The priests of
this temple of Ankalama, backed by the demand of the
people, made preparations for a feast of unusual pomp.
A leading feature of it was to be the return into their old-
time service of the Madigas who had become Christians.
They were to beat the drums.

Crowds of worshipers began to gather. The festival
was in course of preparation. The village karnam sent
a messenger to bring the Christians. They replied that
their religion forbade them to have anything to do with
idol-worship. Five village constables were then sent to
fetch five of the leading Christians. They were brought
by force. Water was poured over their heads until it
was thought the antagonism of their Christian religion
had been washed away. Their heads were shaved — a top-
knot was left. Their foreheads were marked with the

A SOCIAL REVOLUTION I7I

sign of Siva-worship. The drums were forced into their
hands. For three days they had to endure the shame of
their position. Crowds of people passed who knew that
they were Christians.

The five men had gathered up the hair as it fell under
the razor, and tied it into their doth. They hastened to
Ongole and told me their story, showing the hair in their
cloth, taking off their turbans to show the mutilation. I
saw that there was a point here that lent itself to legal
procedure. I helped the men file a case in court. The
English magistrate of Ongole tried it. He asked the five
Christians whether they considered themselves to have
been insulted. They said, 'Tt was as if our throats had
been cut, our shame was so great.'' It was a clear case
of insult to the religious conviction of British subjects.
The maximum punishment was five years. The karnam
was a Brahman. He had to pay a fine of thirty rupees
and was imprisoned for three months. This meant pol-
lution of the worst kind for him and would formerly
have been thought impossible. The case helped the
cause of the Madigas greatly. It proved beyond a doubt
that the outcastes had the same rights before British law
as the Brahmans.

There were many ways of evading the law. There was
scope for petty persecutions which nothing could stop.
All through the years, here and there over the field, trou-
ble arose. The cause was always that the Madigas were
rising out of their abject position. When they had a
school in their hamlet and began to be self-respecting and
self-reliant, the caste people thought it time to teach their
former serfs their place in the community. The co-
operative system of the village was turned against them.
The village washermen were told not to wash for them ;
the potter was told not to sell pots to them; their cattle
were driven from the common grazing ground; the Su-

172 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

dras combined in a refusal to give them the usual work
of sewing sandals and harness ; at harvest time they were
not allowed to help and lost their portion of grain. They
were boycotted on every hand. The karnam called Madi-
gas from elsewhere to do the scavenger work of the vil-
lage, and the Christians had no alternative but to go to
distant villages to find a little work and earn a scant
pittance. They often came close to the margin of starva-
tion.

This program was followed in many a village. The
people appealed to their preachers; the preachers ap-
pealed to me. Those oppressors always knew that they
might in some way have to reckon with me. It is prob-
ably true, as a group of the old Ongole preachers said
when they were talking of those days: "If the fear of
our Clough Dhora had not been in the minds of all the
miinsiffs and karnams of that region we could not have
stood." Preacher Kola Peddiah had an experience of
this kind. He was a man who more than once suffered
tribulation with his flock. Even in his old age he hastened
to a temple festival to reason with those who were forc-
ing the drums into the hands of his people. They fell
upon him and beat him, and the old man's coat, stained
with his blood, was produced in court as evidence. His
eyes radiant with gratitude, Peddiah used to tell how in
the early days, before a crowd of oppressors I had called
him my tamurdu — my younger brother.

There had been much suffering, for a village of Chris-
tians in the Kanigiri taluk had been brought to the limit
of endurance. I went there on tour. It was known that
my tent had come and that I would arrive in the morn-
ing. Crowds of people had gathered from all the neigh-
boring villages to see what I would do about this perse-
cution. If I failed to bring about a change there were
other karnams everywhere who would try similar meas-

A SOCIAL REVOLUTION 173

ures with the Christians. I went through the main street
of the village. On one side among the crowd, his arms
deferentially folded over his chest, stood the karnam, a
Brahman. Peddiah, with the Christians, walking close
by, pointed him out to me: "That is the man." The
karnam made many and deep salaams. I did not notice
him. Already anxious, he now became full of fear. He
had boycotted the Christians ; I now boycotted him. He
began to make excuses; I did not look his way. Insist-
ing on being heard, he said, *T did not do that work.
There are no witnesses."

Then I turned my horse on to him, and he had to get
out of the road for my horse, as the Christians had many
a time run away before him. I said : ''You say there are
no witnesses. The Christians have told me what you
did. The preacher, who is like my tamiirdu, has told
me. Would my younger brother lie to me? You are
the liar, not the preacher." I called him some hard
names. I was weighed down by the persecutions the
Christians were suffering, and this man got the force of
my pent-up indignation. He began to make promises
that he would be kind to the Christians. I made him
repeat those promises before all that crowd as he stood
there with his arms still folded over his chest. I declared
that I was "afraid of his lying words." I told him and
all who pressed close in order to hear every word : "Be-
ware how you persecute these Christians. Their God is
not like your idols who hear not and see not. When
these poor men pray, God is not far off."

It ended that persecution. All that was said and done
during those few minutes of public encounter was re-
peated hundreds of times over the field. It was a clear
case of intimidation on my part. But it did the work.
My horse helped. It was a fine white animal, full of
spirit — few dared to mount it. The preachers were proud

174 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

of it. I realized this when, the mission in debt, I had to
cut down their small income and, to help them, offered to
sell the horse and divide the money among them. They
said: "Never mind about us. Keep the horse. What
should we say to all who stand ready to persecute us if
they ask us whether our Dhora no longer rides a horse ?"
They were right. We needed everything that could help
us hold our place.

Sometimes I faced village officials and found that
nothing could make them change their course. I could
generally count on a degree of kind-heartedness with the
munsiff, always a Sudra, remnant of the old paternal
Dravidian village rule. The karnam was the one whom
the people feared most. He was always a Brahman,
kept accounts and collected taxes. Proud of his race, his
attitude toward the people was often very harsh. The
old preachers say I once thrashed a karnam in the Kani-
giri taluk because he treated with insolence my request
for leniency toward the Christians. I had no right to do
this, and he might have had me in court. But he dared
not ; for I, in turn, might have been able to prove a case
against him for violating the law of religious toleration.
I might have shown him unfit for his office. He kept
still, and that thrashing worked good for the Christians.

Standing between the people and their oppressors, I
incurred every kind of personal risk. There was a night
out in camp when I nearly died of poison. I had had a
somewhat stormy interview with the mimsHf of the place,
during which I had insisted that he must stop his perse-
cutions. Later I drank a cup of tea ; the milk had arsenic
in it. It was an overdose and that saved me. After that
my servants grew vigilant. Our faithful cook, Cartiah,
watched over me, especially on tour, and would not let
me eat or drink anything unless he knew exactly where
it had been obtained. He saved my life many a time by

A SOCIAL REVOLUTION 175

his carefulness. Fruit was brought to me poisoned. Once
I stood on my veranda, interviewing people who had
come from far and near. A munsifF with four Sudras
approached me with smiling faces, offering me a gift of
fruit on a brass tray. I had just helped the Christians
in their village win a case against them, and they were
to pay sixty rupees fine. If I should suddenly die they
could keep their money. I saw by the looks of all who
stood there that they had misgivings about the fruit. I
said, "This is bitter stuff. You persecuted our Chris-
tians. I do not want your gifts." I took the fruit, large
and small, piece by piece, from the tray, and hurled
it among the trees in front of the veranda, so that the bits
flew in every direction.

Once I was mauled with bamboo sticks. I had bought
ground adjoining our compound on which to build houses
for our helpers. To have Christians living so close to them
angered the people of the neighborhood. I went to direct
some coolies in clearing the ground and those people fell
upon me with long bamboos. My umbrella was smashed
out of my hands — my pith hat protected my head a little.
The cook was the first to hear the noise. He came run-
ning and dragged away the strongest of those men. Then
my future staff of preachers, all still in school, heard
some one calling, 'They are beating our Dhora!" Like a
whirlwind they came. They fell upon the chief offender,
and were so close to murdering him that I forgot my
bruises and pulled my men away. Preacher Abraham,
when he was an old man, in telling about it said, "We
dragged that man along the ground by his juttu, and his
hair stayed in our hands." With exulting eyes he looked
into his hands, as if he still had the hair in them. The
police inspector insisted I must take the case to court. A
native official tried it. Fines and imprisonment were
light. But a series of reverses now fell upon that fam-

176 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

ily ; they lost cattle and crops ; the men of the family died.
Rumor greatly exaggerated it, but a superstitious fear
fell upon the people in and beyond Ongole. They said :
"It is not well to touch that Dhora. He has a powerful
God, who smites those who injure him." The sequel
was, that during the famine, when standing on my
veranda giving help to the crowds who came, I saw one
of those men waiting with the rest. I said, "Are you not
the man who beat me ?" He said he was. Without an-
other word I put rupees into his hands, and again when-
ever he came. The piece of land on account of which I
suffered I later made over to our society. In doing so
I did not speak of the mauling. I threw that in for
nothing.

As I look back upon the attempts made to take my life
I wonder that I escaped. I was well-nigh fearless. If
the preachers had ever seen me in hiding, or afraid, their
own courage would have suffered a shock. They watched
over me and practically formed a body-guard around me.
I sometimes told them that a man of God in my own
country had spoken a word to me, that I would be "in-
vulnerable until my work was done," and that I believed
it to be a true word.

Our social revolution was not all a contest. I had
friends among the village officials over all that region.
Those who were kind to the Christians could count on me
as their friend. When they came to Ongole on business
they always called on me. I talked with them and showed
an interest in their welfare. Sometimes it came my way
to do them a good turn — to speak a word on their behalf
to some higher official. Out on tour they came to my
tent. I treated them with much courtesy, asking them to
sit down on my camp chairs and to be present when I
preached to the gathering crowds. During my sermon I
occasionally deferred to them and asked them whether I

A SOCIAL REVOLUTION 1 77

was not telling the people the truth. It was a part of my
missionary work which I enjoyed. There was a touch of
political activity in it. The English officials reckoned
with this. It came to my ears that they said when one
of them was transferred elsewhere and there was vacancy
for a time : ''No matter, Clough is up there. Let him see
to law and order." My hopes for a career as lawyer and
politician were given up when I became a missionary,
yet for the sake of the people that career was neverthe-
less sustained, brought into service for the sake of my
Master, Jesus Christ.

There was one direction where I was almost power-
less in the social upheaval of those early days. When it
touched the family circle I could do nothing. Often men
and women who believed in Jesus found all the ties that
bound them to their kindred straining and breaking. The
Madigas never employed the methods of the caste people;
they never let a man quietly disappear off the face of the
earth because he no longer belonged to them. But the
course which they did take was often very hard to bear.
A family could quietly see one of its members change
from one Indian cult to another, and sit at the feet of one
Guru after another. It made no difference because the
relations of the family to the rest of the village remained
unchanged. Not so when anyone became a Christian.

Often it was the strongest man in the family who first
made the decision that he must believe in Jesus. Then
the rest fell into fear: the people of their hamlet would
hate them ; the Sudras would refuse them work ; the vil-
lage gods would begin to afflict, and then the Brahmans
would let them feel their power. The women had much
to say in tnis. They asked the question that concerned
them all: "Where will we find enough to eat?'' Men
came to me, sore at heart, tried to the utmost. They
asked for baptism. Since they were cast out by their

178 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

families they wanted at least to belong to us. Generally
I advised them to wait, to endure with steadfastness, as
that would most surely win their families.

There was Munangi Anumiah, afterwards the leading
preacher in the Cumbum taluk. He heard a rumor that
the Ongole Dhora had a powerful God, and that he was
urging many Madigas to believe in him, so that some day,
when he had them all kneeling in a line, he could take a
wire like those which the English had fastened to the
telegraph poles, and cut their necks with it, as a sacrifice
to his God. Anumiah believed this rumor and was afraid.
Then one day Nimmiah, one of the earliest converts, came
that way and told him the Ten Commandments. He said,
**Would they teach us words like these, which parents
teach their children, if they intended to cut off our
necks?" Anumiah agreed that there was no reason for
fear, and befriended Nimmiah when the rest were mak-
ing fun of him. He heard of those three precepts, and
they sank into his mind. There came a day when he did
not want to eat carrion any more. Then the fight began.
The women resented his aloofness ; they turned his wife
against him. But he managed to get enough to eat some-
how and kept his peace.

That precept about the Sabbath troubled him. When
the Sudra master called to work on Sunday he went, and
while working "prayed quietly in his mind." One Sun-
day the whole family was ordered to come for a special
job. Anumiah felt he had done this long enough and re-
fused to obey. This was the signal. The whole family
risked the displeasure of their Sudra master and stayed
at home to fight it out. There was a big family quarrel,
and it continued for months. Bezwada Paul came that
way, but he dared not go near. The father and two
brothers were there and all the women. Then Periah and
Nagama came. They had the right of way everywhere.

A SOCIAL REVOLUTION 1 79

Periah was distantly related to the family, but aside from
this no one dared treat him with anything but respect.
The house was swept, and he was made welcome. When
he left he said to Anumiah, "Continue to pray; your fam-
ily will come." After a time he broke away and went
to live with the Christians. Then the family tie asserted
itself. They begged him to come back. The men of his
household had their juttns cut ofT. Several were bap-
tized. Anumiah came to our school. His mother found
it hard to give him up. She walked to Ongole with him.
She stood and looked in, as he began to learn his alpha-
bet, and then she turned to walk back home, a weary
seventy miles, without him. He said of this when an
old man, **My mother cried when she left me, not be-
cause she was sorrowful, but because she loved me so
much.'*

The women, too, suffered and stood firm. There was
one, Nagama, on Periah's field, who had a full measure
of tribulation. Her husband raised no objections when
she became a Christian. Then her eldest son, a lad of
sixteen, died. It was said the village gods had done this,
and her husband began to illtreat her and to insist that
she must give up the new religion. Then another child
died. He tied her to a tree and beat her ; he dragged her
about by the hair till she had little left. Through it all,
her faith in God and his mercy did not fail her. The hus-
band left her and went away with another woman. Pe-
riah brought her to Ongole, leading a bright little boy by
the hand, her only remaining child. He said, 'This
woman has been an honor to me and to my Master,
Jesus Christ, over all my field. Train her as a Bible
woman.*' She became one of the best in the mission.

The more united the family, the harder the struggle.
When in addition the family had standing, and a good
income through some form of priesthood, the blow

l80 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

fell hard. The question of caste did not come into
consideration with the Madigas, or Malas; for they had
none to lose. Nevertheless, the future of the whole fam-
ily was made uncertain, and the members rebelled. The
hardest case of the kind on the Ongole field was that of
the Gumbadi family. There were four brothers, all Mala
priests, belonging to the Ramanuja sect. Oogriah, the
best of the four, made the break. He could read, and
wherever he came upon the tracts which Obulu sold in
that region he told the people they were bad books, and
with their permission tore them up publicly in the bazaar.
But he read them first. He was wide awake in every
direction, ready to learn what came his way. He had
for a time practiced Raja Yoga, and then had joined
in a secret cult of nature worship. None of these changes
had affected him as a priest of Vishnu. Not so with
Christianity; it had a social aspect. He met Obulu one
day, and asked him many questions. Obulu was not the
man to argue with Oogriah, who had passed from one
Indian cult to another. In his simple-minded way he
told Oogriah about Jesus Christ as a living reality. It
carried conviction. Upheaval now came into Oogriah's
life.

One morning, after spending the night in acting, with
his three brothers, a drama having the main episodes in
the life of Krishna for its subject, he found that the crisis
had come. It was impossible for him to continue. He
sat down under a tree and read a Christian tract. The
brothers called him to come and eat of the food which
had first been offered to the idols. His reply sent con-
sternation to their hearts, *T have even now believed in
Jesus Christ, and will no longer have anything to do with
idols, and will not eat anything that has been offered to
idols." There was a hot dispute on the spot. Finally
the brothers asked, 'Then how do you expect to make

A SOCIAL REVOLUTION l8l

your living?" Oogriah replied wearily: "Do not ask me
that. God will show me. If he does not see fit to feed
me, I'll die."

This was the beginning of eighteen months of hard
contest in that family. Oogriah had been their pride.
Through him they were well-to-do. Now he was as noth-
ing among them. His wife turned against him, and her
family took her away. The mother alone was on
Oogriah's side. She reproved his brothers when they
went too far in showing disrespect to him. They tried
to go about with their idols as before, but they missed
Oogriah. Contracts had been made here and there to
perform the drama of Krishna; much gain was in sight.
As Oogriah always played the chief part they had to
cancel the contracts and return the money advanced to
them. Wherever they went they were asked what mad-
ness possessed Oogriah.

I passed that way on tour. It gave prestige to
Oogriah. Everybody came to my camp ; his brothers, too,
came. I talked with them, but they held back. I was the
first white man they had seen near by. As they stood
and watched me they decided that ''this Dhora could have
earned food and clothes if he had stayed in his own coun-
try, and his religion therefore could not be worthless."
Oogriah followed me from camp to camp, and when
finally he returned home his brothers asked him, ''Why
do you come back ? Did not your Guru take you straight
to heaven?" As the months passed Oogriah withdrew
from home. His strength was giving way. He stayed
with Christians in a neighboring village and did coolie
work to support himself. He and his Christian friends
felt the strain intolerable. They set ten days' time dur-
ing which they would pray for those three brothers.

Something now happened. The brothers were con-
ducting a household ceremony with their idols. There

l82 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

was feasting and drinking, and then all slept. Mean-
while, a dog came and carried off in its teeth the best of
the idols, made of copper and silver, and left it on a heap
of rubbish. At dawn it was found there with the marks
of the dog's teeth upon it. This occurrence shook the
eldest brother. When next he tried to conduct worship
with the idols his hands trembled. He gave up then.
There came a night when he could not sleep because a
hard fight was going on within him. In the morning he
walked toward the village where his brother Oogriah was
staying. Eight of the ten days had passed. Oogriah had
just had a dream that his eldest brother was praying with
him. He was coming toward home. They met. They
fell upon each other's neck and wept. There was rejoic-
ing in the family. They came together in a group to
Ongole. The four brothers became preachers. Oogriah
was a valuable man, and when he suddenly died of
cholera his place was never filled.

The mothers generally ranged themselves on the side
of the heretic. The strong tie of motherhood could bear
any strain. But sometimes even that failed. In one in-
stance, on our field, a mother cursed her son ; never, even
when he was an elderly man, could he speak of it without
tears running down his cheeks. He was Namburi Pedda
Lakshmanursu, a Mala priest. The first of the Chris-
tian preachers who came to his village found him fiercely
opposed. But when Oogriah came and talked with him,
he admitted that there was food for the soul in this new
religion. His attitude soon turned the village against
him. His mother and two younger brothers withdrew
from him. They treated his wife harshly, telling her
that if she had courage to leave him he would soon come
back to the old ways. He brought her relief by saying
to her before them, ''You cannot keep me from becoming

A SOCIAL REVOLUTION 183

a Christian, even though you leave me." She gently
replied, *'Why should I go where you are not?"

He endured this for a time. Then he came to Ongole,
asked for baptism and consented to have his top-knot of
hair cut off. As he returned home he found his wife by
the roadside waiting for him, her child in her arms. He
saw that she was crying and knew what he had to face.
With a firm step he went to the house. He laid his tur-
ban aside, preparatory to performing his duties as a
householder. When his mother saw his head, saw that
the juttu was gone, she said, in a voice choked with
fierce emotion : ''I brought you forth and cared for you
in the hope that in my old age I should be cared for by
you. But now I shall not eat food that comes from your
hands. Go away! You are to me as those who are
dead!"

The two younger brothers became Christians, the father
died with a quiet faith and trust in Jesus Christ. The
mother was outwardly unyielding, yet she was growing
old and was glad when she could have at least one of her
sons at home with her. It happened at a time when the
three sons were away from home for a few days that she
died, after a short illness. When the tidings reached
them, the three men looked at each other. Each knew
the thought of the other. The eldest son hid his face in
his hands and wept : "She said that I was as one dead to
her, and no food would she accept at my hands in her old
age. She has died with her sons far distant, alone, as
she said she would be."

It all was hard to bear. Yet none of us felt like mak-
ing a compromise. I might have told the preachers not
to cut off the sacred top-knots of the men if trouble was
bound to come thereby. I might have taught the Chris-
tians to be obedient to their Sudra masters in the first
place, and to consider their duty fulfilled if they came to

184 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

the village meeting on free Sundays. I might have been
conciliatory about the beating of those drums, telling the
men to disengage themselves quietly from this old-time
obligation, but if pressed into this service to yield. I
might have done all this, and it would have made it far
easier for us all. But it would have introduced a flabby
kind of Christianity not worthy of the name.

If I had sailed smoothly along, compromising every-
where, the great experiences of the ingathering would
have dwindled down to nothing. The social status of the
Madigas would have remained unchanged. They would
have lacked occasion to take a stand that called for a re-
adjustment of their position in the community. But our
social revolution came to pass at heavy cost.

All through the years the Telugu Bible which lay on
my office table was well worn in several places. Three
pages, especially, were soiled with many a finger mark.
One was ''Come unto me all ye that labor" ; another was
"In my Father's house are many mansions" ; the third
was "Blessed are ye when men shall revile you and perse-
cute you for my name's sake."

XII

THE IMPACT OF WEST UPON EAST

By the time our first five years in Ongole were over
the foundations had been laid. The eight taluks over
which the movement spread had by that time been touched
with our activities. The field was dotted with Christian
centers. We had a membership of more than fifteen
hundred, and many adherents. The staff of workers who
stood" with me during all the years that followed had
already gathered around us. It was yet seven years to
the ingathering. We were getting ready for it.

In those early years of the movement we were singu-
larly free from the admixture of Western ideas. This
was not wholly in accordance with my intentions. If I
had had my way I would have had a theological school
in full operation a year after we settled in Ongole. I
begged for one, year after year. Not until ten years had
gone by, and the ingathering had become a fact, did the
first class of seminary graduates come to join the old
preachers of the mission. By that time the movement
had become unwieldy. Western organization had to be-
gin. The old days were then over.

I wanted a seminary in order to give our preachers a
wider outlook as Christians. It was to make up to them
for the lack of birth in a Christian land. Their horizon
was bounded by their simple Indian village life. Of the
great world beyond they knew nothing. In a hazy way
they understood that there was a strange country from
which the white man came, that the religion of the white

185

l86 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

man was the Christian religion, that the caste people re-
fused to have anything to do with this religion and looked
upon it with hatred. This was the group of ideas which
constituted the mental attitude of the average Madiga
toward Christianity. I wanted our preachers to realize
their place in the world as Christians, to learn geography
and find out that on two continents Christianity was the
only religion. I wanted them to know something about
the way in which the apostles founded churches, and how
it all came about that after a man believes in Jesus Christ
he must fulfill certain duties, which are called Christian
duties. I tried to bring the men in touch with this knowl-
edge. It was hard work. I had nothing in their lives to
help me. Steady drill in an institution was required.
This we could not get. Perhaps the Lord Jesus did not
want us to have it. The men kept their narrow horizon.
They gave to Jesus Christ a central place in their little
world of ideas. With him as the dominant figure their
simple ideas and simple lives became avenues of force.
I watched it, and felt no fears. Yet no one knew better
than I that I was off the beaten track in letting our men
carry such heavy responsibility as Christian preachers on
so narrow a basis of Christian training.

Several of our leading men never came to our school
in Ongole. Periah was one of these. They were so com-
plete in the fitness for their calling, and were doing so
great a work on the field, that it would have seemed out
of place for me to ask them to step aside awhile and
learn to read. But the majority of that early group of
men came for a time. Afterwards it was counted an
honor when a man could say that he was one of those who
were in our school during the first three years. We never
again had such a group of men together, and we never
put so much heart into the training of any other company
of men. They had stood at the top of the Madiga com-

THE IMPACT OF WEST UPON EAST 187

munity, and were called now to stand at the top of the
Christian community. They were the ones who were
afterwards called, with great affection, *'the big — or elder
— preachers" of the mission.

They began by learning the complicated Telugu alpha-
bet. Then they advanced to "Messages for AH" as a
text-book. It was a proud day for them when I gave
them each a Bible and they found they could spell out
verses and whole chapters. They were eager to learn
everything that came their way. The preachers who had
come from Nellore with us, and their wives, taught these
men and women much about the Christian way of living.
They supplied an element of instruction that was needed.
Mrs. Clough taught them; she took the wives of those
men into training. It was yet the day of small things;
our hands were not so full otherwise. Whatever of
teaching capacity I had those men of the early days were
given the benefit of it. Never after did I put so much
of myself into a class of men as I did into these. It was
one reason why they and I could work together after-
wards as one man.

The instruction which they received, though of the
type of American Christianity, was nevertheless of an
Eastern mold. Our lives were simple; our religious
services were equally simple. Had they seen social for-
mality with us, or religious ceremonial, it might have
confused them. Moreover, it was not our motive to in-
troduce these men and women, in the year or two while
they were living in our compound, to as many Western
forms of thought as they were able to absorb. It was
the other way : we were seeking everywhere for the
points of contact where the direct application could be
made of Western thought to Eastern ways. When they
returned to their villages they had been in no way weaned
from their old environment. On the contrary, they saw

l88 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

possibilities everywhere of welding together, as a new
but compact whole, the essentials of Western Christianity
with the spiritual background which was already theirs.

I took those men touring with me while they were in
school. They served their apprenticeship under me in
this practical way. Those early tours were a mixture
between West and East. The habits of my colporter
days in northern Iowa were still strong upon me. At
the same time, the habits of those men were marked with
the ways of the Hindu Guru. Some of them had been
Gurus themselves. All had had more or less to do with
Gurus. If I had been lacking in elasticity the efforts of
us all would have been crippled. I did not try to make
Americans of those men. The effect would have been
grotesque. They would have been neither Hindu nor
American, and their own mothers would have been puz-
zled about their status. As it was, they remained simple,
humble Madigas — but Christianized. There was a simi-
lar process in my case. I remained an American. The
Hindus respected that in me which spoke to them of my
own country. Yet I met them halfway. The aggres-
siveness of the American colporter was changed into the
more reposeful ways of the oriental teacher. Had I re-
tained my Western methods of evangelistic work the
Hindus would have tolerated and endured my presence
among them — nothing more. When now I fell into line
at every point, watching the preachers in their ways, and
dealing with everyone as I saw it was expected of me,
the effort became organic. It fitted in. We lived and
breathed together as one organism.

There was a call for these men all over the field. The
people were eagerly waiting for them. They were their
own, and had been given up to us for a time. Messages
were continually sent to me asking when they would have
learned enough and could come back. There was a spirit

THE IMPACT OF WEST UPON EAST 189

of perseverance among the men. They knew, even bet-
ter than I, that the converts were pressing in, and that
there was no one on the field to shepherd them. The day
came when I talked it over with fifteen of them. Several
hesitated; they wanted to learn more, and had capacity
to do so. They all wanted me to promise to give them
another opportunity. I said I would if it lay in my
power. Not one of them needed to wait for a call. Their
places were ready for them. The question adjusted itself
according to family and village relationship. Where a
man was known as belonging to certain families in a
group of villages there he wanted to be located as pastor.
It was an Indian way of doing it. I did not interfere.
Thaluri Daniel went back to Dondleru ; Sreeram Solomon
went to Darsi; Baddepudy Abraham became an evange-
list in the northern taluks; Anumiah went to Cumbum.
They all found their rightful places.

By a natural process new Christian centers were form-
ing everywhere. We did nothing to organize them : they
simply grew. In each case there was a man there who
by a sort of common consent became the leader. These
men had not come straight out of the ordinary village
worship. They had either come along the road of Raja
Yoga teaching, or they had been in our school, or both.
The people looked up to them now, and willingly received
Christian teaching from them. The men saw to the up-
keep of the Sunday services in one village after another.
They took steps to help the people find some one to teach
their children to read. Each village sent some of the
best of their boys and girls, and their young men and
women to our Ongole school. It required some years of
patience, and they came back with attainments so far
ahead of anything the others had known that all felt a
great day had dawned.

During those early years I never lost sight of the need

190 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

for native agency. I could find no other solution of our
problem. The need had to be met without the help of a
theological school. I was always on the alert, looking
for men and women who had the qualities of leadership
in them. I enlisted every man and woman who stood
above the average, or possessed personality which could
be drawn into service in their own sphere of life. Often
they were unconscious of any latent abilities. I let them
know that I wanted them, and the agencies, already at
work, did the rest. They took hold of the Christian
motive. Native agency was made a great force in Chris-
tianizing the Madigas. It became a prominent feature
of the Ongole methods.

The harvest of workers in those early years came
chiefly from the Kanigiri and Podili taluks. They had
enough there to supply their own needs, and to spare.
There was a background of spiritual strength in the
Christians of those two taluks which marked the men
and women who went forth from them. Intermarriage
among the leading Christian families of our field was
now beginning to have an effect. The sense of family
cohesion was strong among our early Christians. It be-
came a legitimate factor in Christian propaganda. When
men from those two taluks found a place for labor re-
mote from home, it was generally the case that family
relationship with themselves, or with the wife, had
formed a strong motive. I saw that this was the oriental
way of doing, and raised no objections.

The women had a good deal to say in these matters.
If a man wanted to settle as preacher or teacher away
from home I always asked him what his wife thought
about it. If she objected and the man was making this
move against her will or the will of her family, the chances
for success were small. I learned by experience that it
would take only a year or two, and then for some reason,

THE IMPACT OF WEST UPON EAST I9I

sickness perhaps, he and she returned home — a failure.
I had good reason for enlisting the women from the be-
ginning, and making them come to our schools with
their husbands. Even if they had not capacity to learn
more than their alphabet, they absorbed so much of the
new ideas that at least they did not hinder their husbands
afterwards. The Woman's Baptist Foreign Missionary
Society of the West began in those early years to supply
funds for our girls' boarding school in Ongole, and is
continuing to do this to-day. To' the Hindus, as they
looked on, the education of the Madiga girls and women
was one of the strangest features of the new religion.

Sometimes there were women who had more capacity
to learn than their husbands. I utilized that. After they
had settled in some central place, the men went here and
there to preach. The women began a school under a
large, shady tree in the village. Then the people wanted
a schoolhouse. They saved up money; they begged me
to help them with funds from America. The men of the
village built the walls with stone laid in mud, they bought
a beam and rafters and thatch for the roof. They were
proud of this house. It served for the school ; the Sunday
services were held in it; it formed a rallying-place and
marked that village as a Christian center. Often when
the caste people saw this, it was the signal for petty perse-
cutions. They said : ''Have these low people become
greater than we?"

In all this work of social uplifting, the village elders
took a leading part. There were five of these in every
village, and together they formed the panchayat, or coun-
cil. It was self-administration similar to that of the main
village, where the Sudras lived — pointing to the same
Dravidian origin of both Sudras and Madigas. The
office was for life and in a way hereditary. If a man's
son was not considered competent to take his father's

192 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

place at death, some one else could be substituted by com-
mon consent of the village. These elders became of
great importance to the movement. I came upon them
everywhere. When the preachers went out in new direc-
tions, the elders of the villages they entered were bound
to see that they were given to eat. They inquired after
the preacher's errand, and had to yield to the demand
that the village people be called together to hear about
the new religion. If then the preachers came to me and
told me that people in distant villages were believing in
Jesus Christ, and they could add that several of the
elders, too, believed, and had consented to have their
jiittus cut off, I knew that they had a strong hold upon
that village. When I went out on tour, the village elders
everywhere came to the front and did the honors, extend-
ing the hospitality of the village to me. They were con-
sulted when there were candidates for baptism.. The
preachers knew those applicants, but the village elders
knew them better. They came forward and gave testi-
mony, for or against.

The preachers everywhere relied upon the elders; nor
did they ask for anything in return for their services.
Under the old regime they had been granted some few
acres of land in return for their services. They were
well-to-do compared to the rest. All this was now ab-
sorbed by the Christian movement. The baptism of a
village elder meant that his power in the village was now
to be used for the Master. He was given the Chris-
tian motive. The Christian ethical code was to be fol-
lowed. He was bound to learn from the preachers what
it meant to lead the Christian life, and then to bring
the whole village to that standard. Such a man was a
deacon. The time came when it was an honor to be a
Christian elder on that Ongole field. It meant to a man
that he stood at the front of a social uprising of his

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THE IMPACT OF WEST UPON EAST I93

people. Suffering on this account was accepted with
fortitude.

If I had not adapted myself to this oriental feature
of the movement, Christianizing the village elders and
letting them stay in their old-time places, I would have
missed a great opportunity. Nor did I sit down and
think it all out. It came about naturally, and the Lord
Jesus gave me wisdom to see the bearings of it all.

There was another question, however, to which I gave
a great deal of thought; I studied it; I looked at it from
every point of view. It did not come about naturally.
I was willing to do everything in my power to bring
it to pass somehow. It oppressed me like some stern
unfulfilled duty. This great problem, which I never
fully solved, was the organization of churches.

I wanted to make a beginning in the Podili taluk by
organizing a church at Dondleru. I saw that the inter-
related families of that taluk, who had come to us, would
lend themselves more readily to organization, than simi-
lar groups of families in other parts of the field. They
were prosperous and could do much to support their
schools and their preachers. Some of the best teachers
in the mission, who afterwards served on the staff of
station schools and our theological seminary, came from
the Podili taluk. I was justified in thinking this the
place for an experiment. Twenty years later, when
churches were organized on the whole field, those that
came closest to the Western model were located in that
taluk.

But I did not dare to attempt it in those early years.
Of spiritual life there was no lack. Some of the
preachers had abundant insight and sanctified common
sense. But to set off a church, not as a branch of the
Ongole church, but as an independent self-sustaining
Baptist church, was something which at that time I had

194 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

not the courage to undertake. The question of recep-
tion of members was in itself sufficient to cause hesita-
tion. There is an old letter from Dr. Jewett among my
papers, in which he answers for the second time my
anxious question whether to organize a church at Dond-
leru or not. He replied to go and study the situation,
and then, if it seemed right, to place Ezra or Rungiah
in charge as pastor and let that Christian center become
an organized church. That was the point: I could not
spare Ezra or Rungiah from the work at headquarters.
Moreover, neither Ezra nor Rungiah had passed through
Raja Yoga teaching; they had led the Christian Hfe since
boyhood. In their Western mode of thought they were
distinct from the rest of the Ongole preachers. Dis-
sensions might have been the result. Nor did one or
two churches meet the requirement. The preachers
would have asked me why I did not organize others.
I decided that there was too much at stake. It could
not be done.

Often I felt anxious for the outcome. Here was a
Christian community growing to ever larger propor-
tions, without being brought into conformity to the insti-
tutions of the Christian Church. I called the preachers
to Ongole every hot season for six weeks to a preachers'
institute. I studied portions of the Bible with them and
taught them Christian doctrine. They were teachable
and were anxious to do all that was expected of them.
When, twenty years later, these men were ordained to
the ministry, twenty-four at one time, it was found that
they had the knowledge required of them, though it
had been given them in a fragmentary way.

From the beginning they were strong in certain direc-
tions. Their efficiency in going about and telling the
people about Jesus Christ was great. They were at the
head in the social uprising which Christian teaching

THE IMPACT OF WEST UPON EAST I95

inevitably brought. They knew about movements, about
sects developing through some eminent teacher or re-
former, about disciples and adherents gathering around
some religious teacher who placed their feet upon a
way of salvation. All this they knew, as it was part
of Indian religious life, and they applied their knowl-
edge to the Christian propaganda. •

They did not, however, find it easy to understand why
they should group themselves as churches, each church
a distinct unit, self-governing and self-sustaining, thus
fostering their religious life. They did not readily grasp
the reason why it was not enough to love and serve the
Lord Jesus. They adjusted themselves, and learned
slowly about lists of members and stated contributions,
about voting on the business of the church, excluding
members and receiving them, observing the sacraments
and all the varied duties of membership. It was all so
different from their own ways of self-administration,
with their five village elders, and their panchayat, and
the Gurus going back and forth. We compromised. I
adopted their system, and they adopted mine. It pro-
duced a mixture. There was blessing in it.

That band of old Ongole preachers, about thirty in
number, who came to us before our first five years were
over, formed a continuity of great power, and of an
endurance that was never shaken. They stood as a
group from beginning to end. At the time when the
American Baptists were yet considering whether to aban-
don or reenforce their Telugu Mission, and when I was
wrestling with my ambition for a political career, the
nucleus of this band of preachers was already formed.
They had stepped out of their old village worship, and
then had disengaged themselves from the iron grip of the
village community by going north on trade. There the
group was increasing in numbers, and all were eager to

196 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

find out something about the new religion. I had barely
settled in Ongole when they came upon me almost as
one man — and they stayed. They were in our school
together. They gave their sons and daughters to each
other in marriage, till that whole staff of preachers
was like one great family. When the famine came, those
thirty men were the overseers in digging three miles of
canal and they were the friends of all the people. Then
came the ingathering and again they stood as one man.
I was left year after year, alone, over a church of twenty
thousand members. No disaster came : these men were
all at their post. The field was divided; they stayed in
their places as before. The new missionaries learned
to love these old men, and to lean on them. They
formed a continuity of Ongole methods. There were
never any serious dissensions among them. They were
honored in their old age by the younger generation.

Those old preachers made the movement, and the
movement made them, and all together they made me,
and Jesus, our Master, was in the midst of it.

A change came with the day of the younger men,
who had taken a course of three or four years in our
theological seminary. They could preach sermons
with logical divisions and a conclusion. They had
studied the Old Testament and dwelt much on the chil-
dren of Israel. They understood about the Church and
the Christian ordinances. I was glad to see them in
their trained strength. But the old men stood unmoved.
They knew their own worth.

Groups of them came to Ongole to tell their story,
that it might be incorporated with mine. We were
knitted together — nothing else was possible. Sometimes
they dropped the thread of the story and went into
reminiscences together. They reminded each other how
the man who was already in debt by paying some Guru

THE IMPACT OF WEST UPON EAST I97

a heavy price had to go still further into debt because
all the others came and wanted to know what he had
learned, and he had to give them to eat while they
stayed. There were flashes of humor. They laughed
together. Sitting at the feet of Raja Yoga Gurus, even
though many of them were worthless, had been a rich
experience to them which they would not willingly have
missed out of their lives. We asked one or two of
those who had been considered worthy of initiation what
was said to them. They made the Telugu gesture which
means silence. Neither Periah nor any of the others
would give the slightest intimation of the mystery of
their initiation. They were silent with dignity. It was
a place in their past with which they refused to break.
Their faith in Jesus, the Christ, had come into their
lives, as something very precious, which had cost them
dear. With tears, fighting down the sobs, they told
how their families cast them out, how their Sudra mas-
ters turned against them, how the Brahmans oppressed
them, and how yet they came through as conquerors.
Those old men knew that their stories were unusual.
They had had a chance to compare them with the un-
eventful lives of the younger generation. Their eyes
shone. They were like old war-horses with the smell
of powder in their nostrils.

Yet these men had not been in a theological seminary.
The Lord Jesus had kept them in their oriental setting.
They stood for a movement little hampered by Western
organization.

In their place, at the point of impact of West upon
East, the group of old Ongole preachers had to bear
the shock of it in every direction. The Hindus combined
in their resistance. Our religion was a topic of conver-
sation among them. What they said to one another
about it they used against the preachers and me, as we

198 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

went about. Often when I had a group of listeners
before me, some Brahman engaged me in debate, flinging
questions at me as fast as I could answer them. These
were some of them:

"Will you young English upstarts teach us religion?
Were the Hindus not a great people, skilled in all the
sciences, with a grand system of religion, when your an-
cestors were wild men, clothed with skins, and running in
the jungle? Did you not get all that you know from India?
If the Bible is true, would not God have given it long ago
to us? Would it not have been given to the Hindus writ-
ten in the sacred Sanscrit, when you were jungle men? Is
not all that it contains and much more written in the Vedas ?
Shall we throw away these sacred books, written a thousand
years before this Jesus Christ was born? Shall we break
our caste and all become Pariahs ? The Bible may be good
for the English, but we do not need it."

I could hold my own before such attacks; for I was
a white man and aware of the resources of my race.
The preachers had neither the knowledge nor the status
to face them. They were often in difficulty, especially
when at the outposts of the field. I always advised
them to avoid discussion; for I knew how unequal the
combat must be. The caste people set traps for them;
they asked some seemingly simple question, and when
the preachers answered it, they found themselves caught.
They were held up to the derision of the village. Sticks
and stones were brought forward. There were times
when they had a mob falling upon them, and they could
save themselves only by running to the police station.

Year after year I pleaded for an institution in which
to train a Telugu Christian ministry. As early as March
9, 1869, I closed a letter to Boston as follows:

THE IMPACT OF WEST UPON EAST I99

"The Lord has as yet sent us only the poor, the ignorant
of the ignorant, and the despised. But we are satisfied
for that is God's plan. See I Cor. ist chapter, Luke 14:
16-25. I write to wise men, to men of God. I need not
weaken my cause by writing more. I close as I began, cry-
ing Help ! Help ! Come over and help us or our very pros-
perity will be our ruin."

Another year passed, and nothing was done. Indi-
vidual appeals to the Executive Committee for a sem-
inary had had no effect. We now decided to move upon
them as a conference. We were only four men, but we
organized ourselves as an association in March, 1870.
Dr. Jewett was elected moderator. Rev. John McLaurin,
who had arrived a month previously, was clerk. Mr.
Timpany and I were the voting members, and we had
several logs to roll, but our biggest log was that sem-
inary. We put it through.

"Moved by Brother Clough and seconded by Brother
Timpany that we ask the Executive Committee for eight
thousand rupees for a seminary and professor's house.
Unanimous.

"Moved and seconded and resolved that Brother Clough
correspond with the Executive Committee on the subject."

I wrote a strong appeal to Boston. It was printed
in the Baptist Missionary Magazine. There was re-
sponse. The money was granted, and before we met
for our second association in March, 1871, the buildings
were going up under the superintendence of Mr. Tim-
pany. Dr. J. N. Murdock, then secretary, wrote to me,
November 17, 1870:

"The Lord is working wonders with you, as of old. It is
his doing, and we may rejoice in it and magnify his name.

200 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

If he were not in it, we should be almost alarmed, in view
of such numerous accessions. The question 'How shall we
secure such harvests and preserve the multitude from
blight?' is often on our lips. How often I have said to
myself during these last four months : 'What a pity we had
not adopted Clough's recommendation two years ago to
start a theological school among these people. Then, in-
stead of six native helpers, on whom you can place intelli-
gent reliance, we might have twenty, thirty, or forty !"

The question was now discussed, both in America and
among us in India, whether I was to be at the head
of that seminary. I had not fully recovered from an
attack of jungle fever two years previously and it was
thought a change of occupation might help me. I found
that Mr. Timpany judged my make-up correctly. He
wrote to me : *'You irrepressible Brother Clough could
not screw yourself down to a theological chair for six
months to save your life." I agreed with him. The
restraint of the classroom would have been intolerable
to me. I could hold a preachers' institute for six weeks
every hot season, but beyond that I could not confine
myself.

A task of a different nature was now laid upon me.
We had been pleading for reenforcements. It was a
slow process even to get a hearing. Our appeals were
laid before the Executive Committee. Then they were
published in the denominational papers. They were
emphasized during the annual meetings. The effort
lacked directness. In those days there was only now
and then a man who felt that foreign missions had a.
claim upon him personally. The women's societies had
only recently been founded, with their women's circles
and children's bands, bringing missionary information
straight into the homes and with it a desire to help.
Moreover, our constituency had not yet adjusted itself

THE IMPACT OF WEST UPON EAST 201

to the new point of view regarding the Telugu Mis-
sion. It was no longer a question of abandoning us
on account of lack of results: it was a question what
to do with the harvest.

The men on the field came to the conclusion that I
must go to America and enlist four men for the Telugu
Mission, and get an endowment for our seminary. We
wanted at least one hundred students, and we would
have to furnish their support throughout their course.
It meant a heavy outlay, year after year, for many
years to come. The income of $50,000 would put that
enterprise on a sound financial basis. I was to go to
America and secure this. Dr. Murdock wrote to me
March 11, 1871 :

"We have been deeply pained to hear how precarious
your health is. On the score of economy to the service,
therefore, your early return to the United States seems the
dictate of wisdom. Besides, the most likely way to secure
two or three families for the Telugus would be to come
here and tell your story to ministers and people. You might
be able to find in the great West men likeminded with your-
self who would return to Ongole with you, perhaps pre-
cede you, to help gather the harvests of the future among
the Telugus."

On the envelope containing this letter is written in
my hand: "A bitter pill for me to take." I did not
want to go. Nine months longer I worked before I
turned my face toward America.

A strenuous term of service had come to a close.
West and East had met. The impact had changed the
lives of hundreds, yes, thousands of people. A new
standard of living had been given to the outcaste com-
munity of that region. To many Christianity had
brought ''not peace, but a sword." On me, too, those

202 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

years had left their mark. I was in a sense made over
new. In many respects I was not the same man who
landed in India seven years before.

My manner of approaching the people had changed.
I had learned their code of politeness. I saw that when
the Hindu wanted to be courteous, he answered a ques-
tion by a counter question. If I asked a man, "How
large is your family?" — he replied, "Are there not ten
in my household?" I often conducted conversation thus,
because I saw how it satisfied their sense of fitness. In
other ways also I felt that it was far better that I should
adopt their manner of being polite, rather than permit
them to make up some crude mixture between European
and Indian ways of dealing. I liked the salaam as a
greeting — touching the fingers of the right hand to the
forehead, with a wave of the arm. The practice of
shaking hands came in slowly. I learned their ways
of showing hospitality. Out in the villages, when the
Sudras combined .to show me the courtesy due to a guest,
I took notice. I learned that I must not rise up and go
when done with my visit. I must ask first whether they
would give me permission to go.

There was a tendency always of imitating English
customs. The younger generation, after learning a few
English words, thought they must now adopt English
manners. This frequently meant a complete reversal
of their old-time politeness. The danger was that it
would set them adrift, omitting Hindu courtesies, yet
knowing so little of English courtesies that these were
of slight service. In those days, strict etiquette was at-
tached to the use of the sandals. It was the custom
for a man to- step out of his sandals when he approached
a religious teacher. Sometimes it did young men good
to be reminded that the ways of their fathers were not
yet out of date. They wanted also to discard the turban

JOHN E. CLOUGH (1873)

"A strenuous term of serznce had come to a close. West and East had
met. The impact had changed the lives of hundreds, yes, thousands of people.
A new standard of living had been given to the outcastc community of that
region. To many Christianity had brought 'not peace, but a szvord.' On me,
too, those years had left their mark. I was in a sense made over new. In
many respects I was not the same man who landed in India seven years
before."

THE IMPACT OF WEST UPON EAST 203

and don caps that were neither Hindu nor English. I
held out firmly against such transformations. So far
as lay in my power, I held our Christian community close
to Hindu customs and manners. Wherever I could, I
reduced the temptation to imitate our English customs.
In this I had the trend of the times against me. Those
who adopted the Christian religion adopted the ways
of the West with it, more or less. The group of old
Ongole preachers remained almost untouched by this ten-
dency. This was one reason why their hold upon the
village people remained so firm.

In adapting myself to the ways of the people, my sense
of humor had to be turned into the Telugu channel. It
became one of the most useful tools in my equipment.
I loved the people and wanted to approach them and
take away their fear of me as a white man. I saw that
a bit of fun would go a long way in making them feel
at home with me. I got hold of their ideas of the
ridiculous. I saw that a touch of sarcasm might be
more effective than a sermon. But it had to be their
own kind, not the American or English kind. I learned
their intonations in making humorous remarks. Some-
times I did a bit of acting and mimicry. There was no
better introduction to the sermon that followed, when I
was out in the villages preaching, than to get the crowd
before me to smile and nod their heads with approval;
for then they became all ears for that which followed.
For a white man thus to enter into their ways was some-
thing strange to them and they were willing to walk
many a mile to hear and see for themselves.

There was one direction in which I checked my sense
of humor. When I began my work, I made fun of the
Hindu gods, and thus tried to shake the faith of the
people in them. It did not take me long to see that that
was not the way to do. Some were angered by it need-

204 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

lessly ; others lost faith in their old gods by what I said,
but did not accept Jesus Christ in place of them, and
were thus sent adrift. I stopped that method. I settled
down to telling the people, singly or in groups, about the
Lord Jesus and his life and death, and what he could
be to them if they would receive him. That did the
work. When they accepted him, their old idol-worship
went at a stroke, and my destructive attempts were not
necessary.

Wherever I found anything in their simple lives that
could be taken into service for the spread of Christianity,
I was not slow to lay hold of it. When I went on
tour I used their village customs to advertise me. In
every Madiga hamlet there were men who were called
Yetties, bearing burdens over the country for the Sudras
and Brahmans in return for a small holding of land.
These Yetties were wide awake, and knew what was
going on everywhere. They were practically the news
bearers of the community. Where newspapers were un-
known, information had thus to be carried from man
to man. The Yetties of that whole region were in my
service. When they heard that I was about to pass that
way, they told everyone. They served as reporters also.
If anything important took place, that web of Yetties
published it abroad as if it had been in a daily gazette.
I was on friendly terms with them, and gave them an
occasional present, and charged them to talk the truth
about me, and not give out garbled accounts. It was
a great success in the way of advertising. They often
brought big crowds together for me when I went
preaching.

My views, too, were affected by the process of adapta-
tion. I tried always to be orthodox, but there were
points where Western and Eastern ideas met, and there
I was conciliatory, and my thoughts ran in a groove

THE IMPACT OF WEST UPON EAST 20$

with the people. This was the case with their belief in
evil spirits and demons. It applied especially to cases
where the Christians of a village found themselves fight-
ing and separating into two or more factions. They said
then that some demons had entered into them, and the
demons liked it and would not leave. These were their
old ideas of demonology for which much of their wor-
ship stood. They held that the dead, who had been
evil in life, were roaming close to the earth, seeking an
entry. They feared demons of many kinds which had
to be propitiated.

For me to uproot these ideas would have been a hope-
less task. I let them stand. When I faced the fighters
in a village quarrel, and saw the women with disheveled
hair and angry eyes, the men sullen and unreasonable,
and full of hatred, I said the demons must come out by
prayer to Jesus. Often the two sides in a viHage quarrel
came walking many miles into Ongole to get justice
from me. I saw that I might talk for days and not
settle their disputes. Besides, there were others, with
legitimate requests, waiting their turn, sitting under the
trees in front of our bungalow, and they, too, had claim
on me. I talked to those fighters in their own language :
"You have swallowed several demons which must come
out by prayer. Go under the big tree and stay there till
they are out." I sent preachers and village elders to
pray with them ; when these were worn out, I sent others.
It was the beautiful big tamarind tree near the baptistery
in our compound. I often sent people there to pray, till
it grew a custom, no matter what the special case might
be. If, after a day or two, they came to me and told
me in a half-hearted way that all was right now, and
they wanted to go home to their villages, I could soon
tell whether it was true. I said, 'The demons are still
looking through your eyes, go and cast them out first.'*

206 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

It did the work. They said, "What can we do? Our
Clough Dhora can see right through our eyes what is
in us. We might as well give up."

Even in those earlier years I was growing lax in
church discipline. It somehow did not fit in well. In
the beginning I worked on the pattern of the churches
in America, and exclusions then were more frequent with
us than in later years when we numbered thousands.
This was not because I was growing careless; it was
largely on principle. I found that there was a point
where church discipline and my favorite doctrine of "the
elect" clashed. When I saw men make crooked tracks
in their Christian life, and then finally die a triumphant
death with full faith in Jesus as their Saviour, I decided
that I had better be slow with that church discipline, lest
I be found interfering with the designs of Jesus himself.

There was another point on which I did not hold
rigidly to Western theology. In my preaching I did not
dwell equally on the three persons of the Trinity. I
found that the people took up most gladly the story of
our Lord Jesus. There was power in it. Experience
taught me that when I met a man out on the road, or a
few men, running from the fields as they saw me com-
ing on horseback, and I told them in five or ten minutes
from my saddle enough about my Master, Jesus, so that
if they never heard more and they believed this they
could be saved, it was the beginning of their conver-
sion. The same was true of crowds, no matter how big.
I talked about Jesus and I taught my helpers to talk
about Jesus, and there was something wonderful in the
way in which people took it. I must have preached
hundreds of sermons an hour in length on the text:
"Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden,
and I will give you rest." It was always new.

Thus it came about that we preached Jesus only. We

THE IMPACT OF WEST UPON EAST 20/

prayed to our Father in heaven ; we spoke sometimes of
the Holy Spirit ; but it was Jesus who moved our hearts.
This led to a charge of heterodoxy against me in the
early years. It was at our annual conference, soon after
our much-needed theological seminary had been estab-
lished, I had reluctantly parted with one of my best
men, to assist as teacher in the seminary. He preached
the Telugu sermon at the Conference. A large number
of the Ongole preachers were there and listened. His
recent experience in occupying his mind with doctrinal
theology showed its results. He said that we ought to
preach about God the Father, and God the Holy Spirit,
just as we were now preaching about God the Son. He
admonished the Ongole preachers to mend their ways in
this respect. I saw the effect it was having on them
and feared their zeal for Jesus might suffer a shock.
When the sermon was over, I asked permission to speak,
and I held to it that the preacher is right in preaching
Jesus only, because in his name is salvation for men.
Then the president of the seminary spoke and sided
against me, and he laid the charge of heterodoxy against
the teaching on my field. I defended myself and my
preachers, for whose teaching I was responsible. This
ecclesiastical dispute remained unsettled. I saw that I
must be careful; for that seminary which I worked so
hard to get could easily become a sort of tribunal for me.
Those years previous to the famine and ingathering
were prosperous years of steady increase. If we could
have continued at that pace, there would have been nor-
mal growth and development. It was good to live in
those days. Things were coming to pass. Half the time
we were living in the future, and having that exhilarat-
ing sense of being in the midst of making history — mis-
sion history. Perhaps my course might at times have
become strenuous if Mrs. Clough had not been by my

208 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

side, using her English sensibleness to offset my some-
times impulsive independence. Some of the older mis-
sionaries called her "the balance wheel of the Ongole
Mission/*

On my long tours I left her in charge of the com-
pound and all that pertained to it. While thus holding
the fort, she followed me all over the district with
baskets, carried by coolies, containing water and bread
and supplies, with my mail. And she knev/ where my
source of strength lay, and what Bible verses to quote
to me when I stood in need of encouragement. All
through my missionary career there was one verse that
carried me farthest. It was : *'Be still and know that I
am God; I will be exalted among the heathen!" On
at least one occasion this verse was brought home to me
with peculiar force.

Away off in the direction of Cumbum, during one of
my early long tours, I was tempted one day to shake
the dust off my feet and go. My helpers and I had
camped in a new place, and had been trying hard to
get the people to come and listen to the gospel, but they
would not. I concluded that it was a hard place, and
told my staff of workers that we were justified in
leaving it alone and moving on elsewhere. Tov/ard noon
I went into my tent, closed down the sides, let the little
tent punkah swing over my head and rested, preparatory
to starting off for the next place. Soon I began to hear
the hum of many voices. But I took no special notice
because I had given up the place. Just then a basket
with supplies was brought to my tent by a coolie, all the
way from Ongole, who had walked seventy miles with
the basket on his head. In the accompanying letter,
Mrs. Clough quoted my favorite verse to me. "Be still,
and know that I am God." While reading this, some
of the preachers put their heads into the tent and said.

THE IMPACT OF WEST UPON EAST 209

"Sir, there is a big crowd out here ; the grove is full ; all
are waiting for you. Please come out." Times of
spiritual consolation like this came to me often, and I
always took them as being sent by Jesus himself.

Take it altogether, those first seven years were the
happiest in my missionary career. They brought me a
full share of troubles, of hard work and of narrow es-
capes with my life. But on the other hand, I found
great joy in preaching Jesus, and while I tried to follow
as he led, I was often amazed at the marvels which he
was working. Sometimes they went beyond my under-
standing and I rejoiced with trembling. Perhaps at
those times I touched the highest point possible in mis-
sionary experience.

XIII

REENFORCEM ENTS

The night before we left Ongole, January 24, 1872,
to start on our journey to America, was a decisive time.
The depths of feeling were stirred. About five hundred
representatives from Christian villages, who had come
to Ongole to say good-by to us, refused to let us go.
It was near midnight, yet they would not give up:
their courage failed them. They urged : "Do not leave
us! Stay with us. Do not go to America!'' Those
nearest in the crowd clung to my feet. They pressed
upon me on every side, trying to hold me. In a few
short years they had taken strides in a new life; they
did not see how they could continue in this without us ;
they could not bear the prospect of going back to their
old life.

I saw that I must make them see clearly once more
the motive for our going, and must give them some
kind of partnership in it, or else the consequences might
be serious. I had told them the reasons for our going
many times before. Now I called upon them all to be
silent and listen carefully, that I might open my heart
to them.

I said to them, "Do you remember when I was at
your village that you asked me to come again soon, and
I told you that I could not ; that I had one hundred and
ninety villages to. visit before I could see you again?"
"Yes, yes."

21Q

REENFORCEMENTS 211

"And do you remember that you begged me to send
you a preacher and I told you I could not, for we had
but eighteen, and they, too, must be scattered through
all these one hundred and ninety villages? And that
finally, when you followed me out of the village begging
me to come, or send a preacher or teacher, I could do
nothing but shut out your prayers and gallop along?"

They said, "Yes, we remember."

"And now you know that I am worn out with work;
that unless I can rest, I shall soon not be able to visit
you at all. You know, too, that we must have four new
missionaries, and a theological seminary to train
preachers who can stay with you all the time; and that
I must go to America and get the men and the money."

Now they begged, "Go quick and come quick; go
quick, and come quick."

A different spirit had come over them. Now was my
opportunity to lay upon them the responsibility of part-
nership. I said to them: "When we are gone, will you
pray every day that God will restore our health, and
that he will send the four new missionaries, and also the
money for the seminary ?" Enthusiastically they agreed.
They believed in prayer. They saw that they would be
instrumental in bringing us back soon. Thus we parted
that night.

When we left Ongole, Dr. McLaurin, with Mrs. Mc-
Laurin, took charge of the field. They were facing a
difficult situation, which required patience and firmness
and kindness. During the previous year Dr. McLaurin
had gone with me on several long tours which practically
covered the field. I introduced him everywhere to the
Christians and to the caste people, as one whom they
could trust. He assisted me in talking to the people, as
he already had some knowledge of the Telugu. I asked
him to baptize the converts during these tours. This

212 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

was almost a necessity in order to convince the preachers
that those who were baptized by Dr. McLaurin were
admitted into the church on the same footing as those
baptized by me.

When now the people realized that we were gone,
some began again to murmur. In their enthusiasm on
that last night, they told us to go quickly and come
quickly. But now they had the grim reality before
them. They were to go back to their fields. The caste
people everywhere would ask them, "Where now is your
Guru? Has he taken none of his disciples with him?
Now will you work on Sunday? Will you let your
juttus grow?'* Their economic relations had been
changed to such a degree that now, with me dropped out
of their lives for a time, the foundations were tottering
under their feet. Dr. McLaurin wrote to me, a day or
two after our departure, that discontent had broken out
into open rebellion. He wanted me to cope with this
before I left the country.

I wrote him to send several of the leading preachers
to Madras to be with us there till we sailed. It meant
expense, for I could not ask the men to walk nearly two
hundred miles. They came in bullock carts, and were
my guests in Madras in their humble way. I saw what
was required. When the steamer was in the harbor,
I obtained permission to take these men on board. I
showed them our cabin, with our luggage already in it.
I showed them the saloon, where we would eat. It was
a great thing to them; for it brought that whole story
about our going to America down from the region of
myths and made it a practical fact. After we came back
on shore, I sat down with them and impressed on their
minds what they were to tell the Christians, and how
to answer the caste people. They now had a big story
to tell. No one in all that region had seen what I ob-

REENFORCEMENTS 213

tained permission to show to them: the way in which
white men cross the ocean. I charged them to tell
everyone on the field that as the first part of my story
was true, they might believe the second part: we were
coming back on a ship from America. It changed the
face of the whole situation. They went back and were
busy several months telling everywhere what they had
seen. The panic passed. Dr. McLaurin now found
these men earnest, willing fellow-workers.

It drew heavily on my faith at that time to look back
and also to look ahead. The first break was now to
come into our family circle. We had four children : our
son, Allen, our daughters, Nellora and Ongola, named
after the two mission stations, and their little brother,
Warren. When we returned to India, our youngest
daughter, Gratia, was born, but the two eldest had been
left behind in America. Our family circle was never
again complete.

My health was much impaired. Jungle fever was in
my system. It was a question how long this would hold
me in its grip. I wanted to be back in my place in India,
yet I had agreed to do a strenuous stroke of work in
America. I was wholly uncertain how I would be re-
ceived when I made my request known to the churches.
During five years I had received nearly 1,700 people into
membership, all as poor and ignorant as could be. I had
not organized them into churches. It weighed on my
mind that I had not been able to bring those converts
into conformity with the home churches. How would
the pastors and leading members of our churches view
this? It was a problem how to give my call for help
a form that would appeal to the home constituency. My
case was unusual. The mission to which I belonged was
not popular. If I failed, it would not be surprising.

I was not even certain of the men at our mission

214 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

rooms in Boston. They had never interfered with me
or poured cold water upon me — not a drop. Still, there
was a note of anxiety sometimes in their letters, which
did not escape me. Their position was that if this
work was of the Holy Spirit, then no man had the right
to question it. Those men at the head of our society
were the trustees of our denomination, and stood for
its principles. If ever Baptist democratic principles were
applied to the uttermost, it was done in my case. Half-
way round the world, hidden in the jungle, no man
over me to control me, I was receiving the people, hun-
dreds at a time, and was calling them Baptists, and
looked to the denomination in America to ratify what
I had done by furnishing the means to establish them
in the faith. Dr. Warren wrote me a letter after the
tidings had reached America that more than six hundred
had been added to our membership during 1869. It gave
me courage. I saw that I had the brethren with me.
It also held me to a careful, cautious proceeding. He
stated to me the New Testament principles to which
I must consider myself bound. He wrote March 25,
1870:

'T took your letter to the Committee and read it to them
entire. They are all impressed deeply by the wonders God
is doing in connection with your labors among the Telugus.
One member remarked that we had seen nothing so pente-
costal since the incoming of the Karens thirty years ago,
and feel that we ought to thank God and take courage.

"At the same time, all seem to be aware that an increased
responsibility is thrown upon you, upon ourselves, and
upon the Baptist churches of this country. These bap-
tized Telugus are all at the best but so many infants, need-
ing a world of care, watching, sympathy, and instruction.
To save them to themselves and make them a blessing to
others they must be trained, and for this they must have

REENFORCEMENTS 215

teachers, preachers, colporters and all Christian appliances.
Every group should have a guide, churches should be
formed, pastors given, chapels and schoolhouses erected.
There is no end to the v^^ork that lies out before you, and
before ourselves. We cannot turn away from it and be
guiltless. God help us to see and do our duty. . . .

"While I would not advise you to baptize any who do not
give evidence of piety, while some indeed might advise cau-
tion in admitting people so ignorant to membership in the
church of Christ, I would unhesitatingly say to you. Go in
on the tide, 'cast the net into the sea and gather of every
kind,' and 'when it is full, draw it to the shore and sit
down and gather the good into vessels and cast the bad
away/ Do not refuse to put down the net because you
may gather the bad with the good. If you do, you will
gather nothing, either good or bad. From the very nature
of the case, there must be some uncertainty, a good deal
in fact, in reference to what you shall enclose in your net.
With that uncertainty fully in view go forward in obedience
to the instructions of the Master, who understood perfectly
this whole business, and cast the gospel net. There is im-
mense advantage in getting a mass of people within the
circle of your influence and under your control. That, to
my mind, is the great idea at the bottom of the Saviour's
teachings. Then you have something to work on, and some-
thing to work with, both material and implements. I have
all confidence in you, for, while I see you are disposed to
push things forward, you seem to understand and realize in
whom your strength is. May Christ Jesus supply all your
needs."

An incident occurred while we were in London, wait-
ing for our Atlantic steamer, which had a strong effect
on me in giving me a hopeful spirit. We went to the
Baptist Tabernacle to hear Rev. C. H. Spurgeon, whose
fame as a preacher in those days had gone the world
over. After the sermon I called on him. One of the

2l6 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

ofificers of the church stood by, and when I was leaving,
he went with me. He asked me what I intended to do.
I told him about the $50,000 for the seminary. He
hesitated a little, as if under some impression which he
himself could not define. Then he said, "K you stay
here in London, you can get that money in two months."
I told him I could not stay. He said, *T want a hand
in that affair." He took out his purse, emptied the con-
tents into my hand, gave me his card, and asked me to
write to him. I told him I was not collecting money
yet. He said, "Never mind, keep that and write to me
of your success." Somehow this encouraged me won-
derfully. The man acted as if I were bound to get that
money, no matter how or where.

We reached America, and I went to Boston and met
the Executive Committee. They knew what my inten-
tions were, for my task had been laid upon me by the
association of our Telugu Mission, and had been duly
reported to them. They received me in all kindness, but
told me I must give up my project. There was a man
recently who wanted $10,000 for something, and after
working six months, had collected only $1,000 together.
Besides, a special project of that size would interfere
with the usual receipts of the society. They said : "It
cannot be done. Give that up." This order was so em-
phatic, T had to yield. Deeply disappointed, I went my
way. With my family I settled in Strawberry Point,
Iowa, in my old home.

The Baptists in Iowa and Illinois now became aware
of the fact that we were back. They had stood by us
nobly with their support during eight years, and now
wanted me to come and tell them all about it. I was
growing strong; Iowa was taking the jungle fever out
of my system. This was my old tramping ground. I
began to go visiting churches and conventions. The

REENFORCE^ENTS 2iy

people wanted to do something'; public opinion was tak-
ing hold of that seminary project, though I held back.
At an association in Iowa 1 told them the story of that
Christian community out in India who needed an institu-
tion to train their ministry. I told the brethren that
I was not allowed to solicit funds for .this purpose, and
that I now was not asking anything. I was only stating
what I and the whole Telugu Mission wanted. Then
one of the leading men rose up and said, *'I move we
indorse this project, and that we give the brethren oppor-
tunity to subscribe." Money began to pour in upon me.
Before I had asked for so much as a single dollar, money
and pledges were in my hands amounting to $5,000.

I wrote to Boston. Several men in the West were in
favor of letting that seminary endowment come out of
the Middle West. There was correspondence, back and
forth. Meanwhile the money was coming in a steady
stream. Five months after landing in America I re-
ceived official permission to raise that $50,000. Then I
went to work in earnest. I traveled from city to city,
from church to church. A spirit of giving was abroad,
from large sums given by wealthy men and women down
to the mite boxes of children, who invariably emptied
them for the Telugu seminary if their parents permitted.
On the day when the great financial panic began, Sep-
tember 22, 1873, my task was accomplished. It was
a question then whether the panic would affect the
pledges still outstanding. It did. There was consid-
erable shrinkage. But the amount secured was large,
and the financial future of our Telugu seminary was
assured.

It had been laid upon me to find four men for the
Telugus. The fact is, the money came faster than the
men. When I had the endowment well in sight, and had
no further misgivings about that, I was still looking for

2l8 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

the men. Twenty years later I enlisted twenty-five men
for the Telugu Mission. The Student Volunteer Move-
ment had done the preliminary work. I found it easier
at that time to get the twenty-five than I did now to get
the four. In March, 1873, ^ made an appeal to the
pastors and theological students through the denomina-
tional press. After setting forth the needs and the invit-
ing nature of the field, I closed my appeal thus:

"I have been in the United States ten months. I have
traveled thousands of miles and have attended the Anniver-
saries in New York, four state conventions, many associa-
tions and missionary meetings, and have, in behalf of the
missionaries and native brethren, invited scores of pastors
and ministerial students to come over and help us. But shall
I write it? Only one has responded unreservedly to the
Macedonian call.

"I wish to return to Hindustan in September. Will four
of you go before me, or go with me? You must, dear
brethren. For how can I go back and tell those one hun-
dred ministerial students that I can get no teachers for
them? Can I tell the three thousand native Christians that
their prayers are unheard — that of the twelve thousand
Baptist preachers in America none will come to be their
spiritual guides, and that they and their children must live
on in ignorance? Must the multitudes of heathen under-
stand that Christians believe that they will be eternally
lost, but that none will come to warn and teach them?
And must I say to those overworked faithful missionaries
that — no, I cannot, I will not. The men are in the United
States and will come. I believe it with all my heart. Please
send on your names soon. We want to know who you are,
and God and the Telugus will bless you."

The four men came. And they were men who proved
themselves of unusual strength. In one of our conversa-
tions, Dr. Warren said to me: "You know, Brother

REENFORCEMENTS 219

Clough, it takes faith to send out men. Out of every
three whom we send, one falls sick, or to say the truth,
gets homesick and soon returns; one hangs on year
after year and does practically nothing; and the third,
sticks and accomplishes what he is sent to do. In order
to get this third man we are all at work." But this was
not the case with the four men who came out to the
Telugus that year. Each one of them put in at least
ten years of excellent service, and one of them remains
to the present time.

My search for men and money had an effect in several
ways. It took me into the theological seminaries and
I used my opportunity with the students. Even though
they did not come, it made a difference to them after-
wards as pastors. In traveling about, addressing
churches, I was entertained in many homes. If I saw
bright boys and girls, I told them to get a good educa-
tion and then come to the Telugus. They never forgot it.
It remained as a story told in that family circle, and
made every member feel as if some personal obligation
rested upon them. I established contacts between East
and West in this way in great numbers. The Telugu
Mission began to live in the homes of American people.
Those boys and girls whom I invited were men and
women when I came to America again.

I became acquainted with many pastors of churches,
especially in the Middle West. They seemed to give
no thought to the burden I had laid upon the churches ;
all they wanted to know was what they could do to
help. They said : 'That work is of God." When I heard
of some young pastor, marked for missionary zeal, I
traveled miles out of my way to talk with that man.
Some of them were heard from afterwards. One cold
winter day I knocked at the door of a parsonage in
Illinois. I asked the man who opened it, **Does the

220 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

Reverend Henry C. Mabie live here?" He replied, "I
am the man." I said, "I have come to see whether I
can get you to go to the Telugus with me." He smiled;
for he knew me then. He said, ''Come out of that snow
into the house and we will talk it over." He was the
nephew of Deacon Giles Mabie with whom I traveled
over the prairie, long ago, when I was a colporter. He
had heard his uncle talk about me ever since. I stayed
in that parsonage two weeks. It is said that before I
sailed for India I told the men at the mission rooms :
"There is a fellow, named Mabie, out in Illinois. I
want you to keep your eye on him and get him for the
Telugus. I want him." He came afterwards, though
not as a missionary, when twenty years had passed by,
and a great change had come.

I was invited to associations often, and was the one
whom the pastors wanted to hear. They set aside those
whom they always had with them, in order to listen to
me. Missionaries were still few in those days. Asia
was far away. My stories about the common every-
day life of the Telugu people were wanted — the more
unusual and unheard-of the better. At some associa-
tion, after supper had been served in the church parlors,
I was telling pastors and laymen about our preachers,
how tirelessly they went from village to village. There
was one drawback, however, that could cripple them, so
that they could not walk for months. Now and then
stagnant water by the roadside was infested with the
Guinea worm, which fastens on the feet and burrows
under the skin, working its way up to the knee. I was
describing with graphic detail the crude way employed
by the people, of winding the worm on a small stick, an
inch a day, until its full length is removed. All were
giving breathless attention. Dr. C. F. Tolman, one of
our district secretaries in Chicago, sat there listening.

REENFORCEMENTS 221

Suddenly he broke in upon us : 'There, I cannot go with
you on that. I have traveled with you for months, and
have stood by you, though you told some pretty tall
stories. But I cannot go this one." There was a roar
of laughter, and all of it against me. I had to subside.

During that brief sojourn in America I turned the
interest of many people to the Telugus, and I also made
many personal friends. I wish I could speak of them all;
most of them have gone to the better land. My thoughts
turn to Dr. A. H. Burlingham, at that time pastor in
St. Louis, and a prominent figure in the denomination.
He invited me to his home ; his church did nobly for the
Telugus. When I came to America the second time he
was district secretary for our society in New York. He
was a man of tall, commanding personality. I felt it
fitting to call myself his ''Boy Friday" whenever I was in
New York following calls here and there for public ad-
dresses. Every morning I asked him what he wanted
me to do, and played the role of "Boy Friday." The old
doctor took this in very good humor, and retaliated by
telling everyone that when I was in New York I was
head of his office, and that he, for the time being, was a
mere figurehead.

As I came and went in Chicago I often saw Dr. Os-
good, the man who, fourteen years before, brought me
the call to my life's service. He had come to a beautiful
old age, a benediction to all who came in contact with
him. He followed me with a deep interest which was a
source of spiritual strength to me. Then there was Dr.
Warren, to whom my heart always went out. I was his
man in a peculiar sense. Ill-health had come upon him.
Our official relations had ceased. It made no difference
to us. The allegiance I gave him remained the same.
The spiritual support he gave me was unwavering.

My mother's heart was satisfied by our presence so

222 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

close to her. But she had to let me go back. Another
ordeal was before her. My sister Vina was going to
India as the wife of one of the new men. She was the
one who had always stayed with mother, and cared for
her. Mrs. Clough and I had aching hearts as we made
arrangements to provide a home for our eldest son and
daughter, who had to be left behind. In our family
relations we were suffering deeply, but the cause was
prospering.

The denomination had now ceased to look uf>on the
Telugu Mission as a "forlorn hope." By faith the men
of those days had kept it alive. The call upon them now
had been of a different order. They had risen to meet
it. They gave all I asked. Had I asked more they would
not have withheld it. They let me know in every way
that "the brethren were with me." Once more it was
like New Testament times, when the church at Jerusalem
sent out men to convert the Gentiles to faith in Jesus
Christ. We sailed from New York November 15, 1873.

XIV

MARKING MISSION BOUNDARIES

With fresh vigor and determination we took up our
work again in Ongole January 31, 1874. The Christians
told us they had prayed for us every day while we were
gone, as they had promised to do. They were full of joy,
for they realized that an element of stability had now
entered into the mission. With so much reenforcement
the foundations of their new life seemed secure. The
caste people were powerful, but so was our mission. They
felt the Lord Jesus had done this for them.

There had been a steady increase while I was gone.
Dr. McLaurin had taken hold of the situation. My meth-
ods, which he watched carefully when touring with me
previous to my furlough, seemed right to him and he
adhered to them. The staff of workers had become his
loyal helpers, and he combined ^ his zeal with theirs.
Never afterward did he cease to love the old Ongole
preachers. He had come in touch with the spiritual life
in those men, and had learned to prize it. They con-
tinued in their work just as before, with whole villages
under instruction, people everywhere asking about the
new religion. In the three northern taluks several
preachers had been laboring abundantly. From that
direction also the converts now pressed in. Calls came
from all parts of the field for Dr. McLaurin's presence.
He went on long tours. The result was that during the

223

224 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

two years of my absence he baptized more than one thou-
sand.

The increase then ceased. During two years after
my return we received the people in tens ; there were no
hundreds. Then the famine began, and it was under-
stood that no one would be received. Thus when the
ingathering came, with its nine thousand in six weeks,
there had been four years of comparatively few acces-
sions. There was a definite reason for this seeming
standstill, so far as numbers were concerned. The move-
ment, as it swept over the Madiga community, had picked
up the best first — those who were ready to respond to
the Christian appeal. The leaders had made the begin-
ning. Then those followed who had been under their
direct influence. Then came the wider circle of those
with whom there were ties of family relationship. If it
was within the memory of anyone that at some time a
marriage had been contracted between two families, it
constituted a claim. Tribal clannishness appeared in
this form. Afterward when the old leaders were asked
what their motive was for going to villages remote from
Ongole, winning people over to the new religion, they
generally replied that there was a family there, distantly
related, which had to be told about the change that was
coming over them all. Those related families again had
branches of their own. The appeal, carried along with
the impetus of clannish, tribal life, moved like an ava-
lanche, gathering up as it went along. But a limit had
now been reached.

We had been at work seven years. Those of the Madi-
gas who had been adherents of the Yogi Nasriah had
mostly come over to us. We had absorbed the strength
of that movement so far as it concerned the Madigas.
Those who had belonged to the Ramanuja sect also had
come. It was safe to say that all who had taken the

MARKING MISSION BOUNDARIES 225

first step out of the common village worship previous
to our coming were with us by this time. They were at-
tracted to the Christian religion and could not stay away.
Many of those early members of our church had distinct
religious experience back of them. They had taken one
step after another, and knew why they had taken them.
Then they had borne the first shock between the old life
and the new. They had participated in a social uprising
and had suffered in a cause. The village elders of those
first years were afterward a host. The women had some-
thing of strength about them that marked a number of
them as Bible women. In later years the older Chris-
tians felt a certain justifiable pride when they could say,
*T joined the mission before the famine."

This nucleus of three thousand Christians on the On-
gole field was now hard at work among those who were
still engaged in the worship of demons and serpents and
female deities. They were bound to succeed, even though
the response as yet was slight. There was less intelli-
gence to work upon, less capacity for devotion, less re-
ligious impulse. It took a catastrophe like the famine
to rouse those Madigas of lesser standing out of the
apathy of their lives. Then they rose up with all the
gregariousness of their tribal characteristics and almost
overwhelmed us. Yet they had been taught for years,
taught faithfully.

We missionaries of the Telugii Mission were now giv-
ing much thought to the question of extending our field.
We had four new men. We knew that our home con-
stituency was ready to support us in marking our boun-
daries on a somewhat ample plan. Our mission had at
this time four stations, located along the seacoast. Our
total membership in these four stations was nearly four
thousand.

Nellore had been a good base of operations. Dr.

226 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

Jewett had occupied this center for nearly thirty years.
At this time, in 1874, he went on furlough, and gave
charge of the work to Dr. David Downie, who has been
the Nellore missionary since then. When Dr. and Mrs.
Jewett returned to India in 1878 we all desired to see
them settled in Madras, a large, important city. They
opened the work for our Telugu Mission there, and left
their benediction on it.

During the three years while Dr. Jewett and I were
alone in the Telugu Mission we decided that Ongole must
be our second station. That move was evidently part of
God's plan. Next we decided that we must occupy two
centers lying between Nellore and Ongole. We fixed upon
Allur as one of these, a town which had been one of the
outstations of Nellore. Dr. Jewett in 1869 secured
property for mission premises in Allur. There were
members enough to organize a church. Helpers from
Nellore felt called to Allur. Rev. Edwin Bullard, who
came out in 1870, occupied this place for a time, but
afterward did his main work in other stations of the
mission.

Mr. Timpany, who joined us in 1868, was the man
for Ramapatnam, a place lying thirty miles south of
Ongole. He looked for land on which to build a bunga-
low, but none could be found. Then, during 1869, that
most prosperous year of our early history, the govern-
ment decided to transfer the headquarters of the English
magistrate from Ramapatnam to Ongole. This made
a large compound of nearly one hundred acres and two
buildings available at low cost. Mr. Timpany wrote to
me, "Is not the Lord making a broad road to Rama-
patnam and its field?" Early in 1870 he settled there,
and was now my nearest neighbor. Several of our help-
ers joined him. Thirty-two members of our Ongole
church, who lived on his field, united with the new

MARKING MISSION BOUNDARIES 22j

church. I went to be present at its organization, and
preached the sermon from I Samuel 2 130, "Them that
honor me I will honor, and they that despise me shall
be lightly esteemed." We all took a deep interest in the
opening of this station. It has always been one of the
strongest in the mission.

Our theological seminary was located in Ramapatnam.
Mr. Timpany had built up a flourishing school by the
time I returned from America. He felt the need of it
as keenly as I, for he, too, was receiving converts in
large numbers and was wondering how to supply them
with preachers. As he now gave charge of the seminary
to Dr. R. R. Williams, we men on the field discussed'
the methods to be employed in this seminary from which
we all expected so much. Several of us took it for
granted that we were to have an institution after the
pattern of theological schools in America, giving the
men as complete a training as possible. Others, like
myself, saw that we were facing an emergency, and that
it would have to be our aim, at this juncture, to raise
up a native ministry in the shortest time possible. I
held that a course of two or three years would educate
the men above their previous surroundings to a degree
that would give them adequate fitness to be teachers and
guides to the rest. I also insisted that the wives of the
men should be given every opportunity to learn with
their husbands. If they showed capacity equal to that
of their husbands they were to be regarded as regular
pupils in the seminary classes. I knew what a host one
such woman could be out on the field. I also knew how
crippled was the preacher whose wife was untrained.

Dr. Williams was of my opinion. He reckoned with
the needs which arose through the ingathering. During
those pressing years there were two hundred students in
the institution. The call for workers on the field was

228 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

SO great that we felt bound to give opportunity for train-
ing to every man who felt called to the service and stood
above the average in intelligence. The seminary met a
great need at that time. During all the years it has ful-
filled the hopes I had concerning it. Gradually a better
degree of fitness was required before entrance, and the
course was extended to four years.

My sister Vina, as the wife of Dr. Williams, was there
during those formative years. She helped in teaching
and directing the students, especially the women in the
institution. She gave an abounding love and sympathy
to all. Less than three years it lasted. Then Dr. Wil-
liams and I stood by an open grave, under a palm tree,
in sight of all the activities my sister loved so much.
There we laid her body to rest. It was a stunning blow,
against which I almost rebelled. But I told all who were
mourning that the Lord Jesus makes no mistakes, but
does all things well. Thus we have to step aside and
bury our dead. Sometimes we never get over the feel-
ing that something bright has been taken out of our
lives which we could ill spare. But we move on and do
our work.

With our four stations along the seacoast, and a sem-
inary located in one of them, we missionaries felt that
we should do as Isaiah says, "Lengthen thy cords, and
strengthen thy stakes ; for thou shalt break forth on the
right hand and on the left." We took into considera-
tion the extent of the Telugu country. It covered a wide
area and had a population of about eighteen million peo-
ple. In the northern part of it was a city, Secunderabad,
of fifty thousand inhabitants, and a large cantonment for
English troops. A Telugu man from this city came to
our mission to visit friends. He was a pensioned ofificer
in a Sepoy regiment, an intelligent man, of noble bearing
and simple piety. Years before when stationed in Burma

MARKING MISSION BOUNDARIES 229

he became connected with a church of our society there.
We talked much with this man about Secunderabad. Rev.
W. W. Campbell, one of our four new men, decided in
December, 1874, to go to that distant city and ascertain,
by looking over the field, whether Secunderabad was the
center for us to occupy. He traveled by oxcart in slow
stages, a distance of more than two hundred miles from
Ongole, preaching everywhere. He came back convinced
that that was the place for him, and accordingly made his
application to the Executive Committee. His appoint-
ment came, and with Mrs. Campbell he settled in Se-
cunderabad. Eight men and women from the Ongole
church went with him as helpers. They organized a
church. A good foundation was laid; it became the
base of several stations. Thus was our northern boun-
dary marked.

A year later we decided on our western boundary.
My own intentions in this matter were overruled. I had
fixed upon Cumbum and Markapur, sixty and eighty
miles west of Ongole, as our outposts. The mountain
range just beyond seemed to me to mark a natural boun-
dary. Repeatedly I requested our Executive Committee
to send a man to occupy Ongole, and let me settle out
there. After our first ingathering, In 1869, ^ strong cen-
ter of the movement was In that region. I wanted to be
in the midst of it, but no one seemed to agree with me
about this. Gradually I began to notice that what was
called "the Ongole wave" was crossing that mountain
range. It was penetrating to Kurnool, a city of twenty
thousand Inhabitants, where as yet no missionary was at
work, one hundred and seventy miles west of us.

There was "a man from Macedonia" calling to us to
come and help. A priest, Galiah, living near Kurnool,
heard of the Ongole Mission and the new religion. He
felt he must go and learn more about It. He walked all

230 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

the way, crossing the mountain range. He reached Cum-
bum ; our school teacher there told him more about Jesus
Christ. He walked on and on, till he came to us. I was
deeply interested in the man, and believed he was a
Christian. I advised him to go home and set his house
in order and then come and join us. He was never heard
from again. But he left his mark on me. Perhaps God
sent him. Galiah told me with strong conviction that
multitudes of his people would believe in the Lord Jesus
if only they could hear of him. I wrote to America, May
15, 1871:

''Kurnool has been in my mind much since Galiah, the
convert, went away. I think a missionary will have to go
up there soon. You may think me visionary, but I cannot
get rid of the thought — it haunts me night and day. I feel
it more, I presume, because I have tried to keep our work
on this side of the Nulla Mulla Hills, thinking that we
finally could not go any further for years to come. If this
work had been mine, I dare say I should have succeeded,
but the work is God's and it goes where he pleases. I re-
joice with trembling. O for help to be strong and to quit
ourselves like men."

Nearly five years had passed since then. I had not
forgotten Galiah, the priest. I had sent Bezwada Paul
and others beyond those mountains, and they had brought
back reports that there were converts in that region. I
talked with Rev. D. H. Drake, one of our new men, and
we decided to go and spy out the land. H Mr. Drake and
I had known how hard this tour was going to be, and
how much it would cost him by way of ill-health, we
might have hesitated. He often said afterward that it
crippled his missionary career. Taken altogether, it was
the most difficult tour of my missionary life and beset
with many dangers.

MARKING MISSION BOUNDARIES 23I

With an adequate equipment of tents and men we
started November 15, 1875. The first sixty miles took us
through a number of important centers where our Chris-
tians lived. We preached to them everywhere and found
them steadfast in faith, while many came, anxious to hear
more about the Lord Jesus. Then we reached the foot
of the Nulla Mulla Hills, a mountain range about 3,000
feet high and from fifteen to twenty miles wide. We
began our climb before daybreak, and went ten miles
through dense jungle. We reached a good camping
place, with a well close by. A number of idols had been
placed here by pious Hindus, to guard the spot and keep
away the demons that send malaria. We decided to pitch
our small tent here and spend the night. Tigers were
prowling around. Two of our men were awake all
night keeping a large campfire burning to protect our
ponies and bullocks and ourselves as well from tigers
and panthers. Meanwhile I had sent Obulu with four of
our men ahead to take the large tent across the mountain
and pitch it ready for us when we arrived on the other
side. A man of the wild Chentsu tribe, which inhabits
those hills, served as guide. Four bearers with bamboo
torches were to show the way.

All went well with them until they came to a place
where the road, just wide enough for a cart, wound
round the side of a hill and up until it reached an eleva-
tion of probably two thousand feet. On the one side
was a mountain a thousand feet higher still, and on the
other side an awful precipice, nearly perpendicular, a
thousand feet down to the valley below. Here the bul-
locks became frightened at something, and the cart top-
pled over. A friendly tree, just in the right place, caught
it, else the cart, my tent, bulls and cartmen would all have
gone down the precipice. The men righted the cart, and
then Obulu called to them, "Our God has delivered us

22^2 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

from a horrible death. We must give him thanks.'*
They took time to build a fire to keep off the tigers, and
then they all bowed down with Obulu to pray. One after
another they gave thanks. Even those hillmen, with
incoherent words, acknowledged Obulu's God. There
the next morning at eight I came upon them, as I was
going ahead of the rest on my pony. I had to put fresh
courage into Obulu and his little caravan before they
were willing to go ahead. We all went together and
reached the other side, thankful to be safe from tigers
and jungle fever.

Those tigers on our way gave us a good deal of anx-
iety. The mountain pass was full of them, and some
went prowling even in the day. We never knew at what
moment a tiger might spring upon our bullock driver and
carry him off. It happened on that road which we were
traveling, that a man-eating tiger had learned to lie in
wait for the mail-carrier, as he ran along, a stick over
his shoulder, the mail-bag at one end and some bells
jingling at the other, to frighten away the snakes on the
road. For three days in succession he ate a mail-car-
rier, and as it was known by telegram that no mail had
arrived beyond the pass, all knew what it meant, and no
native was willing to venture. An English officer de-
cided to go and see what was wrong. He colored himself
brown, tied on a loin cloth, took a gun on his shoulder
with bells jingling on it, announcing his coming. He
reached a place in dense jungle. A big tiger jumped out
and was met by the gun. The Englishman looked about
and saw three mail-bags with sticks and bells lying there
and a few rags, giving evidence of the tiger's three meals.
The great famine, several years later, thinned out those
tigers. When the smaller animals began to starve be-
cause everything had dried up, the tigers were the next
to starve. They grew bold in going long distances.

MARKING MISSION BOUNDARIES 233

prowling about the villages, adding to the terrors of the
famine-stricken people.

We rested on the other side of the pass and then moved
on ten miles farther to the village Atmakur, where Bez-
wada Paul had been at work, now and then, for more
than a year. A deputation had come to Ongole from this
village some months before and asked for a preacher. I
had sent one, and had told him to tell the people I was
coming to see them. We now went to their hamlet and
found a congregation of two hundred ready to listen.
Later in the day ten came to the tent and asked to be re-
ceived, as they had believed in the Lord Jesus for some
time. Then a number who had been undecided, though
also under instruction, joined those ten. Mr. Drake and
I stayed another day, and I preached again to a large con-
gregation. We examined the converts, and saw no rea-
son why they should not be received. My diary says :

"We baptized twenty-six upon profession of faith in
Jesus. At noon all assembled at the tent, and they chose
four of their number as deacons, and Guraviah to be their
pastor. Thus ended December i, 1875, i^ establishing the
first Baptist church, or branch church, west of the moun-
tains, to be connected with the future Kurnool Baptist
Mission."

The little company of believers begged for a missionary.
They said hundreds would believe if they had some one
there to teach them. This encouraged Mr. Drake. We
had forty miles more to Kurnool, and when, just after
sunrise, we entered the town, it presented a beautiful
appearance, with the adjoining country, and the river
flowing through. We called on the English officials, and
looked about for a suitable bungalow for Mr. Drake.

Our homeward journey from Kurnool nearly cost sev-
eral lives. We took the southern pass. The first night

234 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

we went eight miles through the jungle and had to camp
in a miasmatic place. The next day, when we halted
after five miles more, Mr. Drake was taken with jungle
fever. Two hours later our cook fell ill. I secured a
cart for each and we pressed on, to get beyond the range
of tigers and malaria. After we left the mountains be-
hind us we had to go in easy stages because of our sick
ones. Soon Obulu fell sick, and I hired a cart for him.
Next a preacher, and two days later the tent pitcher fell
sick. I now had a caravan of five sick men. The most
serious case was that of Mr. Drake. At times I won-
dered whether he would live. I had ample medicine with
me for them all. But nine days of tedious journey lay
between Ongole and the place where they fell sick. When
at last we reached Ongole we had traveled over more
than four hundred miles on horseback, or in carts, or on
foot.

Six months later Mr. Drake settled in Kurnool. I
called for volunteers among our preachers to go with
him, and took from them a promise that they would not
fail him in that distant city. The little center at Atma-
kur, which we had planted, throve well for a time. Later
there was some falling away. During the years of the
great ingathering hundreds professed faith in Jesus.
There was a harvest in that direction, just as Galiah, the
priest, told me seven years before would be the case.

Thus were the northern and western boundaries of our
Telugu Mission staked during 1875. For twenty years
we kept our work within the lines then marked. Later
the younger men went somewhat farther, but practically
the outposts remained the same.

An important move of those years was the founding
of the Canadian Baptist Telugu Mission north of us.
The work among the Telugus had a strong hold upon the
Baptists in Canada. Mr. Day, the founder of our Telugu

MARKING MISSION BOUNDARIES 235

Mission, had passed the last eighteen years of his Hfe at
home in Canada. Like a prophet of old, he said at the
last, "Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace
according to thy word, for mine eyes have seen thy sal-
vation." He wrote to Dr. Jewett, a few months before
his death, in 1871 : ''Oh how many times within a few
years, when reading missionary news from our Telugu
Mission, I have almost staggered under the weight of
the good news, and like the disciples on one occasion after
the resurrection of their Lord, 'believed not for joy and
wondered.* " He did not live to hear of the thousands
who had come. The hundreds stood as a fulfillment
granted by God to this man of faith.

The interest aroused in Canada by the work of the
Timpanys and McLaurins had led to large giving. It
was decided to begin an independent work among the
Telugus by opening a station at Cocanada, an important
seaport town about two hundred miles northeast of On-
gole. Accordingly, when I returned to India in 1874,
Dr. and Mrs. McLaurin resigned their connection with
our society and began work in Cocanada. They were
soon joined by other men and women from Canada. In
1878 Mr. and Mrs. Timpany also united with this new
mission, leaving behind, on the Ramapatnam field, a
strong membership of nearly eight hundred. Much fra-
ternal interest has always characterized the relations be-
tween the Canadian Mission and our own.

There is a half-circle of Baptist missions along the
coast of the Bay of Bengal, extending over three thou-
sand miles. These missions are at work among people
of various origin, speaking various languages. One
after another, in the course of the century, they came
from England, the United States, Canada and Australia,
clustering side by side in a neighborly way. Dr. William
Carey made the beginning in 1793, founding a large

236 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

English Baptist mission in and beyond Calcutta. This
formed the middle of the half-circle. Dr. Adoniram
Judson, after calling upon American Baptists to form a
society, began in 18 13 in Burma, and the work extended
into Assam. Dr. Judson was at one end of the half-
circle. Our Telugu Mission was at the other end of it.
He began in 18 13, while our expansive period began
fifty years later, in 1864.

That half-circle of Baptist missions stands for much
hard work and much faith. Innumerable strands of in-
fluence reach out to connect the men of India with Chris-
tian men of several continents. The divine life of Jesus
Christ finds expression in this connection. Men looked
to him and did their work in his name.

XV

AN INDIAN FAMINE

The half-yearly monsoon, in the summer of 1876, had
failed. We all were anxiously watching the clouds. If
another monsoon season passed with cloudless sky a fam-
ine was inevitable.

In September of that year I went on tour. I wanted
especially to go into the Kanigiri and Podili taluks to see
the Christians ; for I had heard that they were suffering
through the scarcity which had already begun. Periah, as
arranged, met me when I reached those taluks. He told
me I could go no farther. He said my horse which I
was riding, and the bullocks drawing the cart with my
tent must starve if I proceeded further, which meant
that I would have no means of returning home. I re-
fused to believe that the outlook was already so dark. I
tried all day to get straw to take along as fodder, but
had to give it up. I was on the confines of the area
where distress was already evident. Very reluctantly I
turned and went back home. My heart was heavy with
the trouble which I saw was coming.

The poor, dumb beasts were the first to suffer. Fod-
der had given out. Cattle were fed on the leaves of trees
and shrubs, made eatable by soaking and pounding. Even
that supply was exhausted. Out in the jungle the rab-
bits and deer died out. Tigers roamed about hungry.
Jackals alone were thriving, for they fed on the dead.

237

238 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

The Nellore district was famous for its breed of cat-
tle. The government occasionally instituted cattle shows.
I always took an interest in these efforts to increase the
prosperity of the community. The Sudras began now
to feel hard pressed. The beautiful cattle, which were
their pride, and stood for their wealth, were starving.
Dealers from all parts of India were coming to buy up
the best. They were unscrupulous, and offered a beg-
garly price. The Sudras appealed to me. I stepped in
for them as go-between. I was a farmer's son, and
knew the value of cattle. I helped a few, and the report
of it spread. Soon the Sudras refused to sell, except
through me. The dealers began to come straight to me.
I could not spare the time to conduct small sales. They
brought the cattle to me in droves. A sale of one hun-
dred cows in one day was the highest I reached. I al-
ways arranged for a fair price. The governor in Ma-
dras heard of it and twice sent me a large order to fill
for his household. Soon all the cattle were gone. Only
the wealthiest Sudras could keep a few and feed them
somehow. It took the prosperous farming community
yea^s to rise from the calamity which fell upon them at
the beginning of the famine.

The Madigas, being on the bottom round of the lad-
der, were the next to suffer the pangs of hunger. Even
when harvests were good they were never far from the
condition where they had only one meal a day. For a
time they fed on the cattle that died of starvation. Then
distress began. Our Christians complained bitterly that
they had a meal only once in two days and could not
endure it much longer. Soon the preachers and helpers,
of whom there were now sixty, wrote urgent letters to
me. They had nothing to eat. The church members
were themselves starving, and could not give them so
much as a handful of rice. The willingness of the people

AN INDIAN FAMINE 239

to provide for their preachers and teachers suffered a
shock. They never wholly returned to their old habits
of giving".

While we men of the white race were slowly becoming
convinced that something on a large scale would have to
be undertaken to relieve the growing distress, the Hindus
were at work giving help in their own way. Families
who had enough to eat went on half rations, in order to
give to relatives who were starving. Wealthy men of
every caste obeyed their sacred books, and fed a given
number of people each day. Some fed only a few ; some
several hundred ; there were Hindu gentlemen in Madras
who fed two thousand each day. Even if only a little
thin gruel was given, it sustained life. All through the
famine the charity of the Hindus was in evidence. They
joined us white men when the government now made an
organized effort, backed by large expenditure from its
treasury. There was blending here of Western and
Eastern modes of charity. White men were familiar
with organized efforts. The Hindus found that in this
way also they could feed the poor and fulfill thereby the
law of their religion.

The government of the Madras Presidency began in a
masterly fashion to cope with the situation. Public
works on a gigantic scale, which had been contemplated
for years, were now undertaken in order to give employ-
ment to the starving. The construction of the Bucking-
ham Canal was one of these and concerned us in our dis-
trict. Thus far it had extended from Madras north
about one hundred miles, and came to a stop a little be-
yond Nellore. The question had often been raised of
extending the canal a hundred miles further. We had
nothing north of Nellore but country roads, and they
were impassable sometimes for weeks, during the rainy
season. Engineers came and computed that it would

240 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

take four years to do the digging, which meant heavy
expenditure. I pointed out in the Madras papers even
before anyone thought of a famine, that those engineers
had overestimated both the time and the money required
for the canal project. It now came to pass that under
stress of famine the one hundred miles of canal were
completed in one year's time.

A leading government engineer who had had experi-
ence in employing large bodies of working people, was
instructed to have the whole program of operations ready.
There was still hope that the usual northeast monsoon
would come at the end of 1876, and that a famine would
thereby be averted. It failed. Then the order was given.
In three weeks' time officials were in their places, and
one hundred thousand people were at work digging. The
management of the whole project was admirable. Every-
where the motive to give relief was apparent. It was all
on a humane basis.

I watched the work on the Buckingham Canal with
keen interest. The line taken passed through the region
where our Christians lived. They could thus be saved
from starvation. I wanted to help them. It was clear
to me that I must work in conjunction with government
officials. I lost no time in offering my services to them.
Everything they did was on a large scale. They had
eight thousand tons of rice from Burma to transport in
the direction of Cumbum, and asked me to contract for
the necessary bullock carts. Cholera broke out in On-
gole. It was prevalent in the district also. They gave
me ten thousand cholera pills to distribute among our
preachers, on condition that I would teach them how to
help the sufferers.

The groups of people sitting on my veranda and under
the trees in front of it gave evidence of the growing dis-
tress. They were from every part of my field, already

AN INDIAN FAMINE 24I

emaciated and asking me to help them. The preachers
and teachers were coming and going with care-worn
faces. Some friends, government officials among them,
had placed money at my disposal to give to starving
Christians. It was as nothing compared with what was
even then required. I began to advise the able-bodied
who came for help to go to the canal and dig; for the
work on it was now approaching nearer. But I saw that
I could not induce them to go there in numbers unless I
was there myself. It was a question of the old disability
of the Madigas. In principle the English officials al-
lowed no distinctions to be made. When it came to prac-
tice, the overseers, who were closest to the people, had
scope to oppress them and illtreat them. The Madigas
preferred to die at home in their own hamlets.

I talked with the preachers. They had taken counsel
with the village elders everywhere and knew the mind
of the people. I saw that public opinion in our Christian
community had taken hold of the question. The preach-
ers acted as spokesmen for the people. They stood be-
tween me and the thousands whom I was anxious to keep
alive, and intimated to me how it would have to be done.
I was to create an opportunity for the Christians, and
give them backing and protection. The preachers were
ready to second my efforts. They pointed out to me
that several of their number had at times been placed
over gangs of coolies in road-making and other con-
tracts. With these men as overseers the Christians would
have no fears. The conviction grew upon me that I
must personally take an active part in the hard work of
that canal if I wanted to see our Christians get any
benefit from it.

I decided to make a definite move. I went first to
Kottapatam, a seaport town ten miles east of Ongole,
where the engineers of that section of the canal had their

242 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

headquarters. I showed those engineers my certificate
as United States Deputy Surveyor, given to me twenty
years before in the wilds of Minnesota. It served as my
card of admission. They saw at once that I was ac-
quainted with the technical terms of surveying and could
talk that language. I somehow fell right into line. To
make a beginning I took a contract for one mile. My
camp was to be located at Razupallem, a few miles south
of Kottapatam. I sent my tent and my whole camping
outfit to this place February 5, 1877, ^^^ ^^^^ ^^^ ■'•
practically lived for four months.

Mrs. Clough, meanwhile, was in charge of our com-
pound in Ongole. She bore a heavy load during those
months. Cholera was always threatening. Regular mis-
sion work was disorganized. She had to help everyone
make the best of the situation. A coolie was sent to me
each day with water and supplies and my mail. I was
kept in touch with all that was going on. Without this
efficient cooperation we could not have carried the bur-
dens of those days.

When the preachers saw that my tent now marked the
place which was to be our camp, near Razupallem, they
took courage, and were eager to do their part. I chose
Thaluri Daniel, on account of his practical ability, to be
at the head of the village of huts which had to be erected.
I showed him the site, and how to lay out the one hun-
dred huts in rows, forming little streets similar to camps
along the whole line of the canal. The engineers fur-
nished us with palm leaves and sticks for the huts. Sev-
eral wells had to be dug. Potters had to bring a supply
of pots for cooking. Native merchants were to come
with bags of grain and set up a bazaar. I sent for mill-
stones to grind the grain. Thus we made ready for that
which was to come.

I went back to Ongole. Our preachers, meanwhile,

AN INDIAN FAMINE

243

had gone out to tell the Christians everywhere about our
camp. At a given time they were to come with com-
panies from their fields. Wayside allowance had been
granted for them, that they might not succumb on the
way. An emaciated crowd of hundreds of our Chris-
tians arrived in our compound. I gave them food and
sent them to our camp, and mounted my horse in order
to arrive there before them. It was a night of great
confusion as they took possession of huts and clamored
for food. The preachers and I were hard pressed, but
finally order prevailed. We were dealing with hungry
people.

The work of digging began February 24, 1877. I
took a spade and did the first stroke of work myself.
We were supplied with picks and shovels. The men
worked with these; the women filled baskets with earth
and carried them away on their heads to empty on one
side and return. The canal was to be twelve feet deep.
We had about eight hundred coolies on our list. Every-
thing seemed now in good order for work, then cholera
broke out. My diary records :

"March 17, 1877: Ten new cases of cholera. Prospect
bad.

"March 18: Trying all day to keep down a panic. Sev-
eral new cases of cholera.

"March 20: Cholera thicker. Conclude not to send any
more to Kottapatam hospital. The people beg not to be
sent. Wrote to Dr. O'Hara and ask for a hospital here and
a dresser. Out in the sun before the little cholera huts from
early morning till noon giving medicines. Seven were down
with cholera. One man was much frightened. He com-
plained the liniment I put on him burnt him, and he re-
fused the medicine. In another hut was a friend of this
man, who shouted to him between his cramps and pains:
*Take the medicine! Stop groaning that way! Trust in

244 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

Jesus. Pray to Jesus. Do not be a coward.' He offered
a silent prayer before he took a dose of medicine, and re-
covered. The other man died."

I began now to suspect the food the people were eat-
ing. I told the preachers to watch. They found the
native merchants were bringing grain into the camp that
was spoiled or only half ripe. It was cheap and the peo-
ple bought it. This was contrary to my agreement with
those merchants. I came upon two of them bringing
spoiled grain into our bazaar. They dropped their bags
in fear and ran when they saw me. The grain fell upon
the ground and I stamped it with my feet till it was
mixed with sand and no one could find and eat it. After
that one of the preachers was in charge of the bazaar of
the camp.

We found also that we would have to give special care
to the new arrivals. The people came in groups, large or
small, all in a starving condition. One of our older
preachers, a man with a kind heart, was there and re-
ceived them; he gave them something to eat and told
them to rest. Often they were too hungry to wait; they
ate the half-boiled grain out of the pot, and then lay down
and died. If the preacher tried to make those who were
weak drink gruel until they could bear a substantial meal
they refused. It angered them. They said, "Never
mind, let me eat ; I am dying with hunger." Others were
so emaciated, no matter how much they ate, they were
always hungry. They ate oftener and more than their
starved bodies could endure. Soon they were found
lying somewhere very still, and those who looked at
them found that they were dead.

The people saw that the preachers and I were caring
for their needs, yet though we did everything in our
power to put courage into them, a panic spread. They

AN INDIAN FAMINE 245

said, "If we must die, let us go home and die there.'*
Soon half the coolies on my list were either sick or dead,
or had quietly, without saying anything, left for their
homes. Only a few hundred remained. But I was now
given a hospital for my camp. A dresser came and I
gave him medical charge. Then I went home to Ongole,
for I was worn out and not well.

Scarcely had I been at home a few days, resting while
I attended to all the accumulation of work awaiting me
there, when new distress sent me back to the canal. It
began to rain heavily one afternoon, and continued the
next day. I wondered how they were faring at the camp.
As I listened during the night to the downpour I was glad
only a few hundred coolies were left; for I knew the
preachers could care for them till I could reach them.
At sunrise I was on my horse. It had stopped raining.
The Yellagundla River had come down between me and
camp, one and a half miles wide, and from six inches to
two feet deep. I had to cross this. When halfway
across my horse gave out. Then I took to wading. The
faithful men at camp were on the lookout for me. They
came in a body to meet me. They offered to carry me
the rest of the stretch through the water. It was so
muddy I feared they could not — I walked. When I
reached my tent I had been in wet clothes three hours,
with the hot sun overhead. I wrote immediately to Ma-
jor Chambers and reported the distress of my coolies, and
he replied I might give subsistence allowance.

Thus the rain came for which we longed so much, but
it came in torrents. We tided over the hardships that
came through the cold dampness and were thankful; for
the rain had kept off a water famine — one terror less.

Large companies of coolies were coming now to the
camp. Those who had gone home panic-stricken re-
turned and brought others with them. Several preachers

246 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

were going about everywhere over the field telling the
people to come to the camp and dig and live. Wayside
allowance was provided that they might not starve walk-
ing the weary miles to the canal. I knew that I must
count upon a large increase in coolies in a short time. I
therefore applied for a contract for three and a half
miles, including the previous smaller contract.

My one thought was to keep the Christians and the
adherents alive. But the reply to my application opened
a different way to me. Lieut. Rawson, R. E., wrote to
me March 20, 1877 :

**I am very sorry indeed that you have cholera in your
coolie camp. I hope that it will soon be better. I am per-
fectly willing to let you have from B. M. stone no to B. M.
stone 136 on the condition that you mention that, if your
own Christian coolies cannot finish the contract, you will
get in other people to help them."

I agreed to that condition about letting other coolies
help on my contract if my Christian coolies could not
finish it. I had no expectation that this contingency
would arise. In the beginning my camp was emphati-
cally a Christian coolie camp. Then the engineer in
charge asked me to put on a larger force, and the num-
bers rose to over three thousand, only about half of whom
were Christians. The other half here came under Chris-
tian instruction to which circumstances gave a peculiar
force.

One preacher after another was now made overseer.
They showed each other how to do the measuring and
how to keep accounts. In order to produce a fellow-
feeling between the overseers and the coolies I made it
a rule that every man who applied for the post must first
work among the diggers until blisters rose on his hands.

AN INDIAN FAMINE 347

The men enjoyed it. They came and showed me their
hands with every indication that they had been using
pick and shovel. I said, ''You will make good over-
seers." They went to work with a smile on their faces.
The people knew that this had been done. It made a dif-
ference with them all. The preachers saw my meaning.
It was a case of being all things to all men.

Each overseer was responsible for one hundred coolies.
He had to calculate the amount of work done, and pay
for it at sundown. With measuring rod in his hand, he
was always there, and became acquainted with those
under him. Wages were good; men saved up a few
rupees, went home and sent other members of their fam-
ilies. Our preachers were now all at our camp. Their
influence over the field was dominant, perhaps more than
ever. The members of their flock came straight to them
when they reached the canal. They brought tidings from
the field. Messages were sent by those who returned
home. The village elders especially formed a connecting
link; many of them came to the canal, others stayed at
home. They cooperated with the preachers. All took
an interest in the hundreds and thousands who were now
coming, who were not yet members of our Christian com-
munity. They were treated with all kindness by the
preachers, and were made to lose their fear and to feel
at ease.

Those leaders of the movement among the Madigas
who had been at the head of the social uprising among
them stood now, at intervals, along our three miles of
canal. There were times when their number rose to
thirty. The best among them struck the keynote. The
rest followed. They were holding together with all the
sense of fellowship that had already endured for many
years. Related to one another and to many of those
who came by family ties, the sorrows of the people were

248 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN XHE ORIENT

their own. They stood now in the hot sun, day after
day, with no shade overhead. When a group of diggers
sat down for a short rest they sat with them. They lis-
tened to stories about scattered families, and about those
who had died. There was always the wail, *'We are all
dying." Out of their own sorrow they spoke comforting
words. Not one of them had escaped affliction. Cholera
had been abroad for some time. No one was safe. The
wife of a preacher, going with him to the camp, lay down
by the roadside, stricken, and died. Others in the camp
were as sad as he. The roadsides in all that region were
lined with the bleaching bones of those who could not go
further. The preachers said afterward, **Our hearts
were very heavy, and our Dhora's hair turned white
during that year."

The name of Jesus was spoken all day long from one
end of our line to the other. The preachers carried a*
New Testament in their pockets. It comforted the peo-
ple to see the holy book of the Christians amid all their
distress. They said, when they sat down for a short
rest, "Read us again out of your holy book about the
weary and heavy-laden." That verse, "Come unto me,
all ye that labor" — was often all I had to give the people
by way of comfort. The preachers were saying it all
day long. It carried us through the famine. It was the
verse of the ingathering. We all needed it ; for even the
strongest among us sometimes felt their courage sinking.

Thousands of Madigas were coming and going who
had often heard about our Master, Jesus, but had put off
hearing more. Thus far they had wanted above all
things the favor of the caste people in whose service they
were; they had faithfully worshiped the village gods.
They came now to our camp, their minds filled with
dread of the demons and fiends whom they had always
tried to appease, but who, they thought, were now let

AN INDIAN FAMINE 249

loose to slay the living. The preachers talked to them
about Jesus Christ. They described to them how he
healed the sick ; how he loved little children ; how he fed
a multitude of people, lest they grow hungry on their
way home. Those stories of Jesus sank into the minds
of the listeners till they forgot about the demons. They
began to think about Jesus and went home and found
they believed in him.

It was Christianity applied in practice on our portion
of the canal. The weakest were cared for most. There
were children who had survived their parents, and were
given protection. There were women without husband
or brother, who were yet safe in our camp. Those who
were too weak to work were given food just the same.
All were treated well — yet they were Madigas. They
would have hesitated to go to any other camp. The caste
man could deny himself, and give half his meal to a
starving man of his own caste. He would feel less wil-
lingness to help the Pariah. Now the caste people of all
that region took notice. They watched my attitude. My
tent was a little to one side of the village of huts. It
served as anchorage to the camp. The preachers had
access to me at all times. The coolies took courage be-
cause I was there to 1 )ok out for them. The English
officials often made it a halting place, as they passed that
way on horseback, inspecting the work. They took tea
with me, and stayed for a chat. They treated me as one
of themselves, and I appreciated it. They were a fine
type of Englishmen. The caste people decided that
though "the Ongole Dhora had made a big Madiga of
himself," he had not thereby lost caste with the men of
the ruling race, since they came and ate with him. The
social status of the Madigas was rising. The contact
between West and East here shed light upon the Chris-
tian sense of the brotherhood of man.

250 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

March passed, and with April the hot season of the
year began. I built a large shed over my tent, with a
thick covering of palm leaves, to escape the danger of a
sunstroke during the middle of the day. There was no
help for the people. Heat was not dangerous to them,
but they suffered under it. Then a calamity came upon
us. My diary says :

"May 17, 1877: About eight in the evening very heavy
rain commenced — evidently a cyclone. It rained fearfully
all night. I took my tent full of old people and women
with babies. I gave them Pain Killer and covered them
up with common blankets, which I had on hand, to keep
them from perishing with cold. At noon the rain ceased.
By 3 o'clock two rivers came down in force and ran three
or four feet deep over all my pits. At midnight the water
had come to the west palm leaf shed over my tent, and was
one and a half miles wide. Many of the huts were flooded
and I expected my tent would be."

All this was hard to bear. For days all was wet and
soaking, while the water was slowly receding. The
emaciated bodies of the coolies were not fit to bear this
cold dampness, while the hot rays of the sun beat upon
them, with no shade over their heads. At night they
huddled together, their teeth chattering, wondering when
it would be their turn to die. I had to keep up my own
courage by continually telling them that the Lord Jesus
makes no mistakes, that it must be all right in some way.
And so we worked on.

The hot winds came. They were terrible that year,
and threatened to close the earthly career of us white
men who had thus far held to our posts without flinching.
The thermometer was at no degrees at midnight. The
European oflicers in tents and huts along the canal were
falling victims to this heat ; four died of sunstroke in a

AN INDIAN FAMINE 2^1

few days ; others lay very ill from partial sunstroke ; the
higher officials were ordered away. The preachers grew
alarmed for my safety. They said, "If you, too, were to
die or fall sick, what good would it do to anyone ? What
could we do without you, with the famine still on us?
Go back to Ongole to the bungalow. We will stay and
carry on everything as if you were here. If we get into
some great trouble you will still be near enough to help
us."

I saw that they were right. It was time for me to
withdraw. I knew the sub-engineer of that part of the
canal. The preachers were willing to work under his
supervision. I gave my contract over to him and re-
turned to Ongole. The work continued several months
longer. I was in touch with all that was happening at
the camp, helping several times when an emergency arose.
The whole stretch of more than one hundred miles of
canal was completed in August, 1877. Afterward the
chief engineer of our section of thirty-five miles took oc-
casion to write to me : "I am glad to say that your por-
tion of the canal is the best on the whole line. It is so
uniform, and cut to proper depth without ups and downs
as everywhere else."

I saw from the Madras papers that the government
was instituting relief work on a large scale here and
there in the famine area. I was anxiously hoping that
something of the kind would be opened in our part of
the country. I knew the executive engineer, J. O'Shaugh-
nessy, Esq., who carried the Buckingham Canal project
through with admirable skill. I wrote to him about a
scheme for irrigation on a large scale. Many a time,
during the previous years, when I was fording the rivers
north and south of Ongole, I thought that all this water
ought to be utilized. I pointed out possible ways and

252 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

means to Mr. O'Shaughnessy. This was his reply, dated
August 6, 1877:

"I have often thought that all the rivers in the north,
the Munnair, the Palair, the Moosee, and the Gundlacumma,
could be turned to most useful account, but I have not had
a moment to spare for investigating what should be done.
Some day, no doubt, these rivers will be taken up. The
quantity of water that escapes by them to the sea, year
after year, or even month after month, is enormous, while,
as you know, the people through whose lands it goes away
to waste would give their lives almost to be able to store
it for their use. I sent an extract from one of your letters
to the government and I have been informed that the letter
I sent with it, as well as the extract itself, have been sent to
the secretary of state. There is a compliment to you, and
through you to me. Let's hope some good will come of it."

But nothing came of it. The scheme was considered
too expensive. Down to the present time all that water
flows into the sea. Engineers are sometimes sent to in-
vestigate. They hand in their reports and by reason of
expense the project falls through. It is a pity that it was
not taken up at that time. Large sums of money were
expended in operations of that kind : roads were made,
artificial lakes were dug, railroads constructed, and many
thousands were thus helped. It was the better way; for
there is a difference between giving a man the money he
has earned and putting into his hand the dole of charity.
The saving of the self-respect of the people was an object
in itself.

We had now gone through six months of famine, pre-
ceded by six months of scarcity. Twice the half-yearly
monsoon season had passed with cloudless sky. When
the cyclone came in May, bringing floods of water, the
grass sprang up. Much grain was sown, but the long-

AN INDIAN FAMINE 253

continued hot winds withered and dried up everything.
From June to August was the season for the southwest
monsoon. MilHons were praying for rain. The Hindus
prayed to the gods of the land. The Mohammedans be-
sought Allah. We of the Christian religion begged our
God to send rain. The time passed. No rain came.
We all knew that now it had become a case of hand-to-
hand fight with death.

The government of the Madras Presidency already had
on its relief works nearly a million people, and another
million was fed gratuitously in relief camps. In the
Bombay Presidency, and in the native states, relief on
the same scale was going on. Yet, great as these figures
of those obtaining relief may seem, they were small com-
pared to the forty million people who were living in the
famine area, eighteen million of them in the Telugu
country. Large quantities of grain continued to be
brought into the country by the government. An in-
creasing number of people had not the money with
which to buy. An organized effort had to be made to
bring money into India and into the hands of those who
needed it in order to sustain life. Englishmen rose to
the emergency. In August, 1877, a meeting of promi-
nent citizens in Madras was called. The governor pre-
sided. A resolution was adopted to cable to the lord
mayor of London, and to the mayors of several other
large cities in the British Isles, requesting immediate aid,
as distress was great. This resulted in the Mansion
House Fund — a great public charity, which still stands
almost unequaled. For nine months money from Eng-
land and the colonies came pouring into India.

When those Englishmen appealed to their mother
country for help, my American patriotism rose up within
me. I remembered the golden corn of Iowa and Illinois.
If only we had some of that in starving India ! J could

254 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

not keep quiet about this. I knew the secretary of the
board of revenue in Madras, and wrote to him about
that abundance in America which could so easily over-
flow into India. I told him about American farmers in
some states who were using Indian corn for fuel because
it was cheaper than coal. I suggested a cable to Presi-
dent Hayes and to the governors of the great corn-grow-
ing states. I said : "I know America and Americans
well. It is not their nature to do things on a small scale.
They have so much money that thousands of them do not
know what to do with it. To give it to India now in this
awful calamity would not only do us good, but them
also."

This letter was inserted in a leading Madras daily
paper. There was a long editorial about it. In those
years the nations were beginning to stand by each other
in times of calamity. England had shown a splendid
helpfulness at the time when a terrible fire leveled a great
portion of Chicago to the ground. The editor did not
doubt that Americans would be swift to return this
good will to England's dependency. But there was no
way of making connection. America as yet had few
points of contact with India. Spontaneous gifts there-
fore were few. As for an appeal to American high offi-
cials, there was no one, either individually or collectively,
competent to urge this without thereby being guilty of
discourtesy to the supreme government. It could not be
done at that time. All that I longed for came to pass in
1900 when famine was again afflicting India. Dr. Louis
Klopsch, of the Christian Herald, of New York, created
a channel by which American money was sent to India in
large amounts. Ships laden with American corn came
into Bombay harbor. I had some of it in Ongole and dis-
tributed many bagsful among the hungry. International
helpfulness had grown.

AN INDIAN FAMINE 255

Some weeks passed before the "Mansion House Fund"
was in full operation. It was hard to wait for the relief
it brought. My diary tells of times when I sat up till
midnight after a hard day's work, writing letters with
appeals, and how I rose at four in the morning to get in
some hours of writing before the people woke up and
began to besiege me. I wrote to friends in America and
in England. I appealed to the missions of our society
in Burma and Assam. They had no famine there. The
Karen Christians in Burma began to deny themselves in
order to send help to their starving brethren on our side
of the Bay of Bengal, when they heard of my telegram,
'Thousands Christians starving, please solicit subscrip-
tions." The several thousand rupees they sent helped to
tide us over the time till something could be done on a
larger scale.

Starving men and women were dragging themselves
into our compound wailing for help. Sometimes they
lay down for rest when they had reached our gate and
never got up again. I was on my feet from morning
till night trying at least to give a hearing to those who
had come for help, and paying out the small amounts
which friends were putting into my hands to those who
needed help most. When I told them I had nothing more
to give they found it hard to believe me. I was to many
their last hope. Almost every day caste people came,
walking many miles, to ask me to buy their jewelry. It
was the custom for families to put their savings into
their jewels. As the native dealers would not give a fair
price, the people begged me to buy, and at least to help
them thus. Otherwise all they had would buy food only
for a few days. It was hard to witness the distress.

Again we were approaching the monsoon season. This
time we did not wait in vain. In October, 1877, rain
came. It was an abundant monsoon. The government

256 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

distributed seed grain. Everyone, no matter how small
his plot of ground, came in for his share — so much per
acre. Bullocks and buffaloes were gone; men hitched
themselves to the plow. Some had sold their plow, a
crude implement of wood; it had bought a few meals.
They now took crooked branches to make the furrows
and carefully, with mantras, they dropped in the seed.
It rotted in the ground. The fields were sown a second,
a third, and in some cases a fourth time. At last the
crops looked promising, and a sense of relief came over
us all. Then grasshoppers came in great numbers. Some
fields were wholly destroyed by them; many were so
badly injured that not more than one- fourth of a crop
could be expected. Those weeks were hard .to bear.
The fluctuating between hope and despair tried even the
strongest and bravest among us.

The supposition is that the famine cost more than three
million lives. It would have cost many million more but
for the Mansion House Fund, and the Englishmen in
Madras, who perfected in the shortest possible time a
gigantic organization for the distribution of the money.
William Digby, Esq., editor of the Madras Times, was
from the beginning a leading spirit in the enterprise.
He now served as honorary secretary. An Executive
Famine Relief Committee was formed in Madras on
which twenty-five leading gentlemen of Madras served.
Many of them were business men who gave up their noon
hours to the careful arrangement of the large financial
transactions. Leading Hindus and Mohammedans, who
were men of affairs, were on this committee. The wealth
of India became apparent in princely donations which
came especially from several rajahs. The money was
not by any means the gift of the white race only. Nor
was it a charity conducted on a large scale by Protestant
Christianity. The Roman Catholic Church was in every

AN INDIAN FAMINE 257

way represented. It was a scheme that was all-inclusive.
Men forgot their differences of race and creed. They
stood shoulder to shoulder in fighting away death from
millions of their fellow-men.

Over all the famine-stricken area a network of local
committees sprang up in short time. Everyone who
could serve, and had the will to do it, was set to work.
Here again the doors were wide open : true interest for
humanity was the requisite. A large number of mission-
aries were stationed in the famine area. They came from
several continents and represented many differences in
their beliefs and practices. On one point they were of
one mind : They wanted to help. Everywhere they
joined the local committees, often they were the ones on
whom the main burden was placed. Their compounds
became relief camps and hospitals. They carried help
into the villages. They were everywhere and stood for
all that was humane and right. In some cases the gen-
eral committee in Madras knew of no one in a given
locality who could relieve the suffering but some mis-
sionary residing there.

Our Telugu Mission was in the famine area. Our
missionaries bore the burdens of those days. Dr. Downie
was honorary secretary and treasurer of the local com-
mittee in Nellore. I held a similar post in Ongole. Our
missionaries in Ramapatnam living in the Ongole sub-
division drew on me for funds to disburse. Dr. Albert
Loughridge, who was in Ongole, went into the taluks
where our Christians lived and carried help to them. He
served on our local committee in Ongole, which included
our submagistrate, our apothecary, an engineer and sev-
eral native gentlemen. Our first remittance came early
in November, 1877. I had asked for twenty-five thou-
sand rupees to distribute. The general committee sent
us fifty thousand rupees. For more than six months we

258 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

were now engaged in disbursing money. Our Ongole
local committee rendered account at stated intervals to
the Madras general committee. The amount which
passed through our hands was approximately one hun-
dred thousand dollars.

We drew on every available agency to help in the dis-
tribution. Most of the taluks over which I had toured
during the preceding ten years were in our subdivision.
I knew many of the village officials. This helped me now
in placing reliance on them. Especially in the distribu-
tion of seed grain the village officials had to help us; for
they could easily ascertain how many acres a man owned
and how much seed grain he therefore ought to be given.
Large remittances were sent to the tahsildars of our ad-
joining taluks.

Our mission bungalow was the scene of much activity
during the months while the fields were sown again and
again, until at last a good crop was ripening for harvest.
Day after day Mrs. Clough and I were trying to meet
the demand made upon us. We were now dealing with
caste people, with Mohammedans, especially with the Su-
dra landowners, when they came for seed grain. Many
a family was destitute and needed a few rupees to make
a new start in life. I sent the women and children to
Mrs. Clough, who, with a force of helpers, was carrying
on relief operations on the west side of our bungalow.
She had a storeroom there, which we kept full of grain,
also clothes for the aged and medicines for the sick. I
was on our large front veranda, accessible to everyone,
with a staff of workers to help me. We took up each case
separately. Our helpers had ascertained the detail, and
could tell the people how to state in a few words what
was needed. There was much uniformity — all had gone
through the same experience and now had similar needs.
Special cases received special consideration.

AN INDIAN FAMINE 259

These were public funds which we were distributing.
There was an exodus from the villages toward Ongole.
My diary speaks of times when there must have been
twenty thousand people in Ongole asking for relief. Our
magistrate sent the sergeant and five constables to our
compound to keep order. At four in the afternoon he
had the drum beaten up and down the streets, and a crier
told the people to go to their homes, as no more money
would be paid on that day. My diary now and then has
the record of some special day. On one of these Mrs.
Clough and I worked steadily for five hours, and found
that we had given to more than six hundred people of all
castes an aggregate of nearly four thousand rupees. We
placed the money in the hands of those for whom it
was intended, or legitimate substitutes. There was a
possibility often that the people were deceiving us in their
statements. They had gone through bitter privation, and
the silver coins in our hands looked inviting. Yet Mrs.
Clough and I were not new in the country; we instinc-
tively knew when we were told a lie. The helpers who
surrounded us could detect discrepancies in the state-
ments made. Besides, public opinion was speaking a
w^ord : we were dealing honorably by the people — they
felt bound to deal fairly by us.

Month after month our compound was the place where
hungry people came to whom we were the only hope.
The Pariah class especially besieged us. That submerged
tenth of the population in our region would nearly have
died out but for us. Groups of them lingered near the
bungalow day after day : hunger was gnawing. We had
men there to keep order ; the people evaded their control.
After Mrs. Clough and I had done our utmost, standing
on our verandas for hours at a time giving to the people,
and finally had gone into the house and closed the doors,
we still left a hungry crowd outside, murmuring against

26o SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

US. We sat down to our simple meal, and they would
have snatched our food if they could have done it. The
servants used to tell afterward how they had to watch
their opportunity to get our meals from the cookhouse
to the dining-room, a distance of twenty yards. They
held the covered dishes high over their heads and started
on a run, to escape the clawlike hands that were stretched
out. That whole famine was an experience which beg-
gars description.

Our Christians were in great want. Most of them
could find no work to do. To many this made no dif-
ference; they were too weak to work. A large number
were sick. Few had grain to eat. Leaves, herbs, seeds
of grass, and weeds were greedily used as food ; for it
was all they could get. Many died in consequence. The
small children of Christians died in great numbers. Our
preachers kept themselves informed. They gave me de-
tailed account of how matters stood, and told me of the
Christian villages where distress was greatest. I had
money in hand, given by Christian friends in America,
England and India, with the request that it be used for
our Christians. I knew of no way to get it into their
hands except to send it to them by our preachers. I felt
great hesitation; for I feared the consequences of this
course. I talked it over with them. It was decided that
twenty of our oldest and most trusted men should go
on this errand, carrying help. I gave to each several
hundred rupees, according to the number of destitute
families on his field.

The men went their way, some forty, some sixty, some
eighty miles from Ongole. They had orders to write
down names and amounts in every village where they
made disbursements, and to get a receipt in each case for
the total amount, countersigned by the village officials,
to bring back to me. They were to give to the aged, the

AN INDIAN FAMINE 261

sick and the helpless; they were not to refuse anyone
they met on the way starving who asked for enough to
buy a meal. Theirs was a hard task. They found men
greedy and grasping in their demand for help. The finer
feelings of family relationship were blunted as the strong-
er members of families wrangled with the aged and weak,
and begrudged them the help they were getting. It an-
gered the able-bodied to be passed by. They never for-
got it. Our preachers complained in after years that
their position had thereby been reversed. The people,
instead of providing for them as they had previously
done, were now inclined to resentment because help was
not again brought to them. Starvation is an experience
that drags men down. Emaciated, sick, poor beyond ex-
pression, our Christians had to regain their footing when
the famine was over. It was a wonder that they had re-
tained as much of self-respect and independence as they
had ; for it was a terrible experience. The famine frus-
trated much of my hope for a self-sustaining mission. I
lost ground which I never fully regained.

The months passed and the distress grew less and less.
Fair crops were harvested. There was fodder for cattle.
By the middle of 1878 the people began to lift their heads
once more and take courage. It was many a year before
the traces of the two years of famine disappeared. The
old prosperity was slow to come back. Wealthy families
had become impoverished. Villages here and there had
partly died out. The children who survived were stunted
in growth. There were faces everywhere that never lost
the look of starvation.

Most of us who had made the distress of the people
our own could now go back to our ordinary pursuits.
The sense of human fellowship that arose among us
men, who were banded together to save the starving,
gave us a sustaining strength. We all were upheld by

262 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

our sense of duty, which with most of us was nourished
by our faith in God. The Hindus and Mohammedans
were guided by the rules of their rehgion, which com-
mand them to aid those in trouble. They lacked or-
ganizing capacity in their benevolence. With amazement
they looked on as we of the white race put all our practi-
cal instincts and business talents to work in carrying on
relief. They saw how we drew our motive largely from
the religion of Jesus Christ. There was something in
this that many a thinking man among the higher classes
of the oriental race felt he wanted to absorb, even though
he desired to remain faithful to his own religious tenets.
The outcaste classes in several parts of South India
turned to Christianity by thousands. Their power of
believing had been touched. They must have died if
the followers of the Christian religion had not saved
them from starving. They discarded their idols and
came to Jesus Christ.

XVI

NINE THOUSAND IN SIX WEEKS

Long before the famine was at an end I knew that
thousands were beHeving in the Lord Jesus and were
ready to ask for baptism. I knew that when once I
opened the doors of the church to the people they would
come in throngs. If was my intention to exercise the
greatest care and, if possible, to avoid baptizing in large
numbers.

Regular mission work had practically been suspended
while we all bent our energies toward keeping the starv-
ing alive. The village schools were closed ; the preachers
had given up their routine work. There had been no
baptism since March, 1877. ^^ was understood by all
that so long as the famine lasted, no one would be re-
ceived. I explained to the preachers my reasons for this.
They were not as clear to them as they were to me. How-
ever, I held to my course.

The people were knocking at the gates of the church.
They made themselves heard. Letters came pouring in
upon me voicing the request of groups of people — fam-
ilies and villages. They wanted baptism. Deputations
from villages came, some a distance of sixty miles, with
village elders as spokesmen. They assured me that the
request of the people was sincere. Their minds were not
fixed on rupees : they wanted salvation for their souls.
There was much similarity in their statements. They all
had heard the preachers and me tell the story of Jesus

363

264 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

before the famine, but had not heeded what we said.
Now, however, they understood better about our reHgion.
They all declared they would ask no help from me ; they
only begged for baptism. They wrote or said :

"We are very poor; our huts are fallen down, and we
have not much to eat but leaves ; but we do not ask you for
money. We will not ask you for the smallest copper coin,
even though we starve to death; but we believe in Jesus,
and, as he commanded us, we want to be baptized. We
can die, if it be God's will ; but we want to be baptized first.
Be pleased to grant our request, and do not put us off any
longer. May the Lord help us all !"

Somehow the impression had gone abroad among the
people that they could not be received into the heaven
of which the preachers and I had told them so often, un-
less they had been baptized. Life was terribly hard for
them ; death was always at hand ; they wanted at least to
make sure of the joys of heaven. I let them feel that
their request was heeded, and that I was taking a deep
interest in them and expected them to continue in their
faith in Jesus. I assured them that the Lord Jesus knew
all about them, and that if any one of them prayed to him
with all his heart, he was aware of it. I told them they
need not fear to die, even though not yet baptized; for
Jesus would know them at once, and give them a good
place in his holy heaven, where neither sorrow nor want
could touch them. This comforted them. It did not
reconcile them to the delay.

During those months of waiting the preachers and I
took a firm hold upon the situation. I knew the state of
the whole field ; while they knew their own portions of it
intimately. They gave me detailed accounts, and I
helped them distribute their forces, so that all the con-
verts were under instruction. I wrote of them :

NINE THOUSAND IN SIX WEEKS 265

*'In the meantime, the native preachers kept a careful
record of all believers, and taught them as well as they
could. Each preacher seemed to have, and no doubt did
have, special help from on high to meet all the demands
of the occasion. Weak men, just able to read the Bible,
preached v^ith earnestness and power, sometimes continuing
their evening meetings until morning ; while the able preach-
ers of former years each became a host."

The preachers were ready for that which was now
before us. Our three thousand Christians were ready.
The Ongole church was in a condition, spiritually, that
made large additions to its numbers possible. The faith
of all had been severely tested. At the beginning of the
famine, especially, many of the caste people demanded
of the Christians that they should give up this new relig-
ion. It was said over all that region that the demons and
fiends of the land had gone forth, thirsting for the lives
of men, because large numbers of Madigas had disen-
gaged themselves from propitiating them as formerly.
Not only had the rain been withheld, but the demons that
strew cholera like seed over the land had broken loose.
They were angry — they had been neglected and set aside
— there was only one remedy. The Madigas must return
to their old-time duties. They were urged to beat the
drums and to dance the sivam — the dance of possession —
so that the demons might find expression through them
and be appeased. It often took courage to refuse. Af-
flicted twice over, through hunger and through the hatred
of those to whom they had to look for employment, the
Christians nevertheless stood firm. When the famine
began I could write of them :

"The Christians, though in great distress, are firm in the
faith. I have not heard of one who has renounced his faith
in Jesus, though the heathen abuse them awfully in many

266 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

places, and charge them with being the cause of the famine,
and urge them to return to the gods of their fathers. I am
in receipt of the best of news as to the Spirit's work over
the Ongole mission field. Many are believing in Jesus."
(December ii, 1876.)

Later, when the famine was at its worst, I wrote :

"As for the Christians, I do not know of any who have
actually died of hunger, though probably many have been
attacked with cholera brought on by improper food. The
Lord has been very, very good to us here. Though many
have died and gone to heaven, though all have suffered from
hunger, and, though abused by heathen and told that they
were the cause of the famine, I have not yet heard of a
single convert denying Jesus." (April 10, 1877.)

Thus they held firmly to their trust in Jesus while the
mass of the people were still putting their trust in idols.

"Idols were worshiped at the beginning of the famine
freely, enthusiastically; and Brahman and other priests
again and again promised rain, seed time, and harvest; but
all these promises had proven to be false. By the beginning
of 1878 the mass of all castes and creeds were convinced
that idols could not help them. Had they not cried night
and day for well-nigh two years to their gods and sacrificed
to them time and again, and yet the rain came not ? Then
when it did come, and they so piously sowed the seed, not-
withstanding all their mantras, it rotted. Then the charity
of English Christians enabled them to sow their fields
again; but their idols did not keep the grasshoppers away.
Many — and the aggregate would make a multitude — had
so lost faith in the gods of their fathers that they felt that
a last appeal must be made, even to Jesus Christ, as the
one, the only living God; and about him, and how to call
upon him so as to be heard, the most orthodox Hindus
even were glad to listen."

NINE THOUSAND IN SIX WEEKS 267

The general opinion at the close of the famine was
that Jesus Christ, as the God of the English and Ameri-
can people, was the one who had helped his followers to
cope with the distress. The seed grain from which a
harvest had finally been reaped came by his blessing. The
caste people felt that he was entitled to a niche in the
Hindu Pantheon. A great change was wrought in the
minds of many in our district. The essential truths of
the Christian religion were well understood by the mass
of people, of whatever caste. Faithful, though un-
learned, men had preached everywhere for eleven years.
Bible portions and tracts had been for sale at nominal
cost in every bazaar of the Ongole mission field. I rea-
lized that the spiritual outlook in that region was very
different in many respects from what it had ever been
before. But there was no actual turning to Jesus Christ
among the caste people. The Madigas only came.

I was under great pressure at that time. My own con-
victions dictated one course. My hesitation on account
of Christian public opinion among the men of my own
race dictated another course. Mine was not the only
mission located in the large famine area which had to
face an emergency of this kind. I noticed in the daily
papers in India, and also in religious journals, that there
were frequent references to "rice Christians" as a result
of the famine. Often there were critical remarks made
in a somewhat hostile spirit. If this was done where the
medium course of enrollment was pursued, surely my
course of letting baptism follow upon profession of faith
would be open to much comment. Yet I was a Baptist
minister and could do nothing else. I looked at the sub-
ject from every point of view during those months. I
was slow to act, until events forced a decision upon me.

The first definite demonstration of the fact that I was
dealing with thousands came at the end of December,

268 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

1877. We were at that time hard at work in dis-
tributing famine relief supplied by the Mansion House
Fund. Plentiful rains had come, but adverse conditions
still prevented a harvest. I had issued a call to the
preachers to come to Ongole for a meeting, and had
asked them in my letters, in emphatic terms, to persuade
the people to stay at home. My hands were tied ; I could
do nothing for them, and was unwilling to have them
come to Ongole and find themselves disappointed. The
preachers did their best. Some rose up in the night and
started while all were sleeping. Before they had come
many miles, they found that hundreds were following
them. They persuaded many to go back to their villages.
Nevertheless, a multitude came.

The people refused to stay away. They came throng-
ing into the compound. An impression had gone abroad
that I was going to institute some new measure of relief
by which they could work and live, as they had done in
our camp on the canal. We gathered them together and
I talked to them. I told them that I had no work for
them. They were sorely disappointed. Then those who
had come to ask for baptism raised their voices. From
every portion of the crowd before me the cry rose : ''Bap-
tize us ! We all are going to die of hunger ! Baptize us
first!" I was in a hard place. I could see that my rea-
sons for refusing them did not convince them. The con-
verts and the preachers were willing to trust me; they
took for granted that I would do what was right by them.
It was not possible for me to explain to them fully the
motives for my hesitation. I told them that I believed
they were telling me the truth about their faith in Jesus
Christ. I prayed with them, and committed them to his
care.

To send these people home, walking the weary miles
back, hungry, fainting by the way, disappointed twice

NINE THOUSAND IN SIX WEEKS 269

over, was something which I could not do. As yet there
had been no harvest. They were managing somehow to
keep body and soul together. Hungry they were when
they came, yet they were patient. They did not clamor
for help; they clamored for work, and part of them for
baptism. I asked the preachers to count them. There
were about three thousand; half of that number were
Christians. I knew I was mingling temporal help with
spiritual demands. I saw no other way to do. Not even
Jesus, my Master, was willing to let the multitude go
hungry — hence the loaves and fishes. In an orderly way
we arranged it, so that I could put a small coin into the
hand of each person, enough to keep them from starving
on the way home. They said salaam and went. This
was on December 24, 1877.

Perhaps what I had done was not right. At any rate,
it was made impossible for me to repeat it. I now was
hedged in by two forces, one representing the most dem-
ocratic type of Christianity, the other the most hierar-
chical. The spokesman of the one was Dr. Warren; the
spokesman of the other was a Roman Catholic priest.

On the day when I sent home the fifteen hundred who
had knocked so loudly at the door of our church I learned
that Father Theophilus Mayer, a Roman Catholic
priest, was staying at the traveler's bungalow in Ongole.
There were Christians belonging to his church in a num-
ber of villages at some distance from Ongole, yet in our
subdivision. I knew that he had been passing back and
forth, carrying relief to them. The secretary of the
Mansion House Fund also, some weeks previously, had
called my attention to this fact. He wanted me to invite
Father Mayer to join our local committee, so that not
even a seeming distinction of race or creed might be
made. I now took action in the matter. I wrote him an
official letter and invited him to become a member of

2/0 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

our local committee. His reply, dated December 24,
1877, is still among my papers. According to my diary,
he took dinner with us on the next day, being Christmas.
We had a long talk. He placed himself in line with us
and called on me for funds to distribute in that region.
Repeatedly, in passing through Ongole, he was our guest.

He was a man a good deal above the average in nat-
ural equipment. I remember saying to him, ''Mayer,
they will yet make a bishop of you." I was correct about
this. Early in his career the Pope appointed him Aux-
iliary Bishop in Madras. His death, widely regretted,
cut short further advancement. In a friendly way I tried
to convert him and make him what I considered a good
Christian. He, in turn, tried to show me the error of
my ways. I remember well how he told me that I was
out of my rightful place among the Baptists, and that if
I would become a Roman Catholic, even though a man
with a family, I would be given a place I could well fill.
As men we felt that we had much in common. In our re-
ligious connections we both were working with our ut-
most zeal. Perhaps I am not mistaken in saying that we
looked regretfully at each other across the gulf of ec-
clesiastical difference that lay between us, and wished we
could join hands.

When a few days had passed after that decisive De-
cember 24th, I received a letter from Dr. Warren, which
stirred me deeply. I had no need of telling him what was
coming to pass in the Ongole Mission. Living on the
other side of the world, he was describing it to me a full
month in advance. Only a few sentences from this letter
have been preserved :

"You have been gathering the ones, the fives, the tens,
the twenties. All right; all as it should be; all as it must
from the necessities of the case be. That dispensation you

NINE THOUSAND IN SIX WEEKS 27I

must pass through to prepare you for another and grander
one : the dispensation of hundreds and thousands in a day,
so to speak. They will come, so many of them, in groups,
whole villages, whole districts at once, that you will not
know what to do with them or with yourselves."

I began to feel the backing of the men of my denom-
ination. If Dr. Warren was with me I could count on
the rest. He had a way of sitting quietly in denomina-
tional councils, listening to others. At a decisive point
a few sentences from him changed the current of the dis-
cussion— men followed his lead. In his letter at this time
his spirit touched mine. I wrote a full reply, and told
him that his prophetic words were already fulfilled. I
described the recent occurrence in our compound and
gave him my reasons for refusing the people.

Then came a long letter which he had written slowly
at intervals on his bed; for he often had times of much
suffering. It reached me May 12, 1878, when the crisis
in my mission was coming closer and closer. To me it
was a document of great value. I tied it in a package
with other letters from Dr. Warren. It was kept in a
place which I considered safe. I went to it one day and
found a small heap of dust where that package had been.
The white ants had destroyed it. Like a true westerner,
I was fond of my horse and relied on it, but I have
often said that I would rather have lost my horse than
to have lost that package of letters. In a newspaper
article of that year the following extract from that de-
cisive letter was made :

"But suffer me to say it to you, and you may tell it to
whom you will, shut not down the gate! I tell you God is
in this thing, as he was in the miracles of Jesus. No,
Brother, do not shut down the gate, let whoever else will
do so wicked a thing."

2*J2 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

Another sentence in the letter stands out boldly in my
memory and I have often quoted it. He wrote :

"Brother Clough, what is this that I hear of your refus-
ing to baptize those who sincerely ask for the ordinance?
Who has given you a right to do this? You know how
Table Rock, after hanging over that mighty precipice at
Niagara Falls for ages, lately fell into the abyss beneath,
never to be seen again. Thus you will drop out of sight
if you continue to stand in the way and refuse to adminis-
ter God's ordinances, no matter what your motives may
be."

This moved me profoundly. For Dr. Warren, of all
men, thus to warn me gave me a sense of fear. Events
were pressing upon me, no doubt. But I did not lack
guidance. Here was a man who spoke to me with all the
authority of a teacher — of a prophet. I knew he was
right. I was bound to render a full and loyal obedience.
Officially our relations had ceased eight years before.
In a deeper, spiritual sense I revered him as my superior.

Some weeks passed. The days were crowded with
work. I was daily giving out seed grain. There was
still a balance in my hands of funds placed at our dis-
posal from the Mansion House Fund to relieve the suf-
fering that lingered on long after the actual famine was
over. Nothing further had occurred to force a decision
upon me. I was waiting to let matters take their course,
ready to act as soon as all relief had stopped and no one
need therefore doubt the motives of applicants for bap-
tism.

Something now happened that urged me into immedi-
ate action. A month had passed since I received Dr.
Warren's decisive letter. Then, on June 15, I learned
that Father Mayer and another priest had come to Ongole
on their itineracy, and were staying at the traveler's

JONAH G. WARREN, D.D.

"Here was a man who spoke to me with all the authority of a teacher — a
prophet. . . . Officially our relations had ceased eight years before. In a
deeper, spiritual sense I revered him as my superior. ... 7 was bound to
render a full and loyal obedience. . . ."

NINE THOUSAND IN SIX WEEKS 273

bungalow. The inhabitants of Ongole during the past
six months had come to look on Father Mayer as a man
who was working in connection with me. They saw
that there was fellowship between us. Concerning the
differences that divided us, not even the most intelligent
of the people had a clear idea. Our Madigas took it for
granted that he was a man of the same Christian religion
to which I belonged. When those who had repeatedly
asked me for baptism now spoke to him about their de-
sire for church membership he gave them a sympathetic
hearing. I heard of this. The crisis was now on me.

I lost no time. I went to the traveler's bungalow to
talk with the two priests. It was all done in an amicable
spirit, but it is safe to say that I never worked harder
during any two hours of my life than I did during that
interview. In a straightforward way they told me that
their bishop considered it an anomaly that thousands of
converts should be kept waiting, asking repeatedly for ad-
mission into the church, only to be met with a continued
refusal. Their church was having large accessions in
other parts of the famine area. They intimated to me
that if the religious body to which I belonged could not,
on principle, allow me to cope with this situation, their
church had no such restrictions. During the past months
they had reported the condition of the field to their
bishop. They had held back, expecting that I would take
action. But now they had orders to gather this harvest,
since no one else did.

I appealed to their sense of justice. I told them they
had come to reap where they had not sown, and that it
was unfair, and all the world would say so. I told them
that the Baptist denomination in America had supported
the Telugu Mission for forty years and that the converts
who were waiting for baptism had been taught by their
agencies. I spoke of the dissensions which were bound

274 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

to come if they persisted. The Madigas in many villages
would be divided into two factions of the Christian re-
ligion. Even members of the same households, not
understanding the difference at the time, would find after-
ward that they had been separated from each other.

I asked them to wait a few months. They told me that
they were now on their way north, to a council, where
they would meet their bishop. In one month's time they
would be ready to come back. They were willing to lay
this matter before their superiors once more, and if per-
mitted to do so they would delay in their return. This
was a small margin of time granted to me in which to
handle a situation that involved ten thousand converts to
Christianity. It was all I could get, and I was glad to
get even that.

I want to say now, at the close of my life, that Mayer
dealt honorably by me. He had it in his power to cripple
the Telugu Mission. Certain advantages over us had
come to him almost unbidden. He did not use them : he
withdrew. There were no rival baptisms, no dissensions,
and there was no proselytism. The story of Mayer's con-
tact with our mission at one point in its history is the
story of a just and fair course of action.

My own plans had to go. My action was hastened.
What I intended to spread over six months I did in six
weeks. Perhaps this was what my Master, Jesus, wanted
me to do. I can see now, as I look back, that it was
necessary, perhaps, to bring some pressure to bear upon
me; for I do not deny that I shrank from the load that
was laid upon my shoulders.

The day after that interview in the traveler's bungalow
was a Sunday. Our chapel was full ; an overflow meeting
was held outside under the margosa trees. My text was :
"Awake thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead."

NINE THOUSAND IN SIX WEEKS 275

After the sermon I told the congregation that in the
afternoon an inquiry meeting would be held, with a view
to baptism afterward. I asked those who were heads of
households, and those who were village elders of the
hamlets surrounding Ongole to come first. I wanted the
leading men in the Madiga community of our vicinity to
make the beginning. They had often requested me to
receive them. I told them the time had now come. They
were ready. My diary for June i6, 1878, says: *'We
baptized 102 to-day, 74 of these were heads of families,
all men from Ongole." Now scarcely a day passed with-
out examination of candidates, followed by baptism. I
made the following statement in the official report to our
missionary society for that year :

"For fifteen months — from March ii, 1877, to June 16,
1878 — we had not baptized a single person. Some here
in Ongole, and about Ongole, whom I had known personally
for ten or twelve years, I was fully convinced were new
creatures in Christ Jesus. It seemed to me my duty to bap-
tize them. I felt that I must, or fail to please Jesus. On
Sunday, June 16, we raised the gate. When it was up we
found it impossible, according to our sense of duty to shut
it down again. In fact, to own the truth, I feared to do so.
I felt that those whom I, or trustworthy assistants and well-
known church members — pillars of the church — had known
for months or longer, and who gave evidence that they
had not only left idolatry, but also believed in Jesus as their
Saviour, must be baptized, or that I must give up my com-
mission, and get out of the way; of course, I had no idea
of doing either. I only wanted to keep the multitude of
converts off two or three months longer, that all the friends
of missions might be free from doubts, although personally
I had been convinced for above a year that the work was
of God. But to delay was impossible, for God's time had
fully come to glorify himself."

^'jd SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

The tidings now went over the country that the gates
of the church had been raised. Call after call came from
groups of believers, far and near. A staff of some of
our most competent preachers was working with me,
especially our ordained men. The converts from one
village or group of villages after another came to On-
gole. We gave our full attention to them. We talked
with each person individually, and required of each one a
statement of belief in Jesus as his Saviour. We ascer-
tained by questions how much of Christian teaching had
been intelligently grasped. The Christian village elders
cooperated with us. They could bear testimony to the
outward evidence of Christian life in the candidates. In
this careful,- deliberate way, we baptized nearly 2,000
converts during the remaining two weeks of June, nearly
all of them living within a radius of twenty miles of
Ongole.

Letters and messengers and deputations were coming
from every part of the field. The people wanted to
know when it would be their turn. The preachers asked
me to tell them my plans. They felt the pressure. I
did not see my way clearly, and wanted to confer with
them. It was necessary that there should be full under-
standing among us all, and concerted action, not only
in receiving the candidates into the church, but in caring
for them afterwards. I was not satisfied with the dis-
organized state of our work, and wanted some of our
former stability to come into evidence as soon as pos-
sible. Our more than forty village schools were all
broken up when the famine began. The thatch which
had covered the schoolhouses had been fed to the starv-
ing buffaloes. The heavy rains had finished the work
of devastation. I had money in hand to rebuild the old
schoolhouses and erect thirty-five new ones in as many
villages. These were needed as rallying places for the

NINE THOUSAND IN SIX WEEKS 277

Sunday meetings of our Christians. Other preparation
was needed before receiving large accessions. All this
I wanted to talk over with the preachers.

I hesitated to call a meeting. If the preachers, six
months before, were unable to keep the people from com-
ing with them, I feared the same contingency would arise
this time. Moreover, the inhabitants of Ongole had been
murmuring against me because such numbers of people,
and of the poorest class, were constantly coming to
Ongole from every direction to see me. The fear that
cholera and smallpox might be brought in from outside
was not without foundation. Amid so much uncer-
tainty, I became convinced that that meeting must be
held somewhere at a distance from Ongole. There was
a little town, Vellumpilly, ten miles north of Ongole, on
the main road. It would save many of our workers ten
miles of walking if we met there. A traveler's bungalow
would afford shelter to me, and there was a grove
of tamarind trees close to it, giving shade to all. We
sent letters to the preachers and teachers to come to
this place on a given date. I urged them to per-
suade the converts to be patient a little longer. We were
prepared now to take up their case, and would soon
inform them of our plans on their behalf.

The time came. The first preachers arrived at Vel-
lumpilly and sent an urgent messenger to me. They
had done their utmost to keep the people from coming,
yet thousands were either there or on the way. Not
a preacher arrived but there were hundreds with him.
The numbers were already overwhelming. I hastened
off, determined to do all in my power to get the people
to go back to their homes. Starting before dawn, I
reached Vellumpilly in the early morning. I found four
of the preachers there in advance of the rest, anxiously
looking for me, and with them were between two and

278 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

three thousand people. More were coming; for the
preachers from the Kanigiri, Podili and Cumbum taluks
had not yet arrived. If the men who had already come
had not been able to keep the converts from coming with
them, it was not to be expected that the rest would be
more successful.

My first thought was that I must do something to
make them all willing to turn back to their villages.
Many were among the fifteen hundred who had come
to Ongole six months before and had then been sent
home. They all had been in our camp on the canal
during the famine. They had been together there, and
they were together here. They were not afraid of num-
bers. Moreover, they had a feeling that my hesitation
with regard to receiving them was unfair. They had
worked their way through the famine — it had been
hard work. The men had hands that showed that they
had used pick and shovel. The women had carried the
baskets of earth on their heads till their hair was worn
ofif. As for actual famine charity, they had received
almost nothing. They now were determined to be
treated as people who had toiled with their hands. They
were bound to make me and everybody else understand
that they were seeking salvation for their souls.

I decided to preach to them, to strengthen their faith,
and then to ask them to return. On one side of the
traveler's bungalow there were large banyan trees, which
gave shade. The preachers seated the people on the
sandy ground under the trees. There was a wide wall,
four feet high, around the bungalow. I mounted this
as a pulpit. We sang several of our best known hymns.
Most of the people had not, until recently, known how to
sing, but they joined heartily. I preached to them for
an hour on that verse which they had heard so often
during their stay in our camp on the canal: "Come

NINE THOUSAND IN SIX WEEKS 279

unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I
will give you rest." It struck the keynote of the in-
gathering.

They gave me close attention. When I came to the
point, however, where I requested them now to go home
to their villages, to be good Christians, and serve our
Lord Jesus faithfully, I met with opposition. Voices
were raised against me. There was the murmur of
dissent. I told them I had no more famine help to give
them. Then the cry rose from every portion of the
crowd : "We do not want help. By the blisters on our
hands we can prove to you that we have worked and will
continue to work. If the next crop fail, we shall die.
We want to die as Christians. Baptize us, therefore!"

I stood there on the wall, looking into their faces.
They were holding up their hands to show me the
callous places in them, that had come by digging that
canal. I knew they were telling me the truth. They
had received few gifts of charity during the famine.
They saw my hesitation. Again came the same cry:
"Baptize us! We ask for nothing else!" Not a word
could I say to them in reply.

I came down from that wall and left them sitting out
there on the ground, under the trees. I went into the
bungalow. Here now I faced the crisis. I called in
the four preachers, the teachers, and the Christian vil-
lage elders who had come. I talked with them. I
understood their side of the situation, but could not ex-
pect them to comprehend the reasons for my hesitation.
They could only dimly grasp the doubts that held me
back.

The strong tie of our close relation in the years that
had passed now asserted itself. There was Sreeram
Solomon, whom I persuaded ten years before to come
to our school. He had become one of our best men.

2S0 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

In our camp at the canal he had taken a leading part,
and had always been a man on whom I could rely. He
now, with another preacher, had come from the Darsi
taluk, followed by a large contingent of Darsi people,
who had walked the forty miles regardless of protest.
There was Baddepudy Abraham, one of the twenty-
eight whom I baptized at Tallakondapaud when I first
began work in Ongole. He told me that as a lad in
our school he read about the 3,000 at Pentecost, and
made up his mind to work till he saw that same thing
come to pass at Ongole. Some weeks previously he had
told me there must be 3,000 waiting in the taluks where
he had since then labored as an evangelist. Numbers
of them had refused to wait longer, and were out there
now, under the trees; baptism was all they wanted.

I had known that thousands were waiting. It is one
thing to know that something is ahead; it is another
thing to see it actually before our eyes. I realized that
in all fairness I could not ask the people to wait longer.
If I now disregarded their request, and sent them home
a second time, I felt I would thereby well-nigh lose my
claim to their loyalty. I knew that the preachers were
right when they urged that the people would murmur
against them, and refuse to heed them in time to come.
Their future usefulness was practically at stake.

I saw that the hearts of these men were burdened,
even as mine was burdened, though in a different way.
I said we would ask our Master, Jesus, to show us what
to do. We prayed together as we had done many a
time before. We had often found that when we had
something difificult to face, and we asked him to help
us, the load somehow was lifted from us. As we now
prayed, one after another, for wisdom and strength,
our courage grew. The hum of many voices was in
our ears. The people outside were wondering when

NINE THOUSAND IN SIX WEEKS 28 1

we would come out and tell them what we intended
to do. They were patiently waiting-. I began to feel
that I must receive them into the Church of Christ, even
though they numbered thousands. I told the preachers
we must baptize these converts, lest we do wrong in the
sight of God. They told me that they believed this was
true. We were ready for action. Our doubts were
gone.

We now rapidly made plans. We were dealing with
a multitude, and must be careful lest we find ourselves
overwhelmed by numbers. Nearly 3,000 people were
already waiting. More were coming. There had been
harvests, and the people had brought provisions with
them, tied in a cloth, enough to last them on the way,
and for a day or two while waiting. If we kept them
long, they would grow hungry. I had not money with
me to give them each something as way allowance.
Even if I had had the money, the little bazaar at Vel-
lumpilly would not have been equal to furnishing sup-
plies for so many. We had to act without delay.

I went out and stood on that wall again, facing the
people. I told them that their request would be granted.
I asked them to go into the grove of tamarind trees,
near the bungalow, and to form groups there, with their
preachers. This grove of shady, old trees became the
place for an inquiry meeting on a large scale during
the following three days. I pointed out to each preacher
a tree, or several trees, under which to gather the people
from the villages which were his special charge. The
teachers and Christian village elders were to give assist-
ance. Each preacher was to make a careful list of those
known to him or his helpers as persons who had given
evidence of having begun the Christian life. There were
many about whom there was no doubt. The preachers
wrote down their names without hesitation. They had

282 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

labored for the conversion of these men and women
for years and were glad they had now come. There
were others about whom there was some inquiry.

My knowledge of the social organization of the
Madigas now helped me. In that tamarind grove each
group naturally was subdivided into villages, and each
village into families. The tribal spirit, the communal
life, and family cohesion, all came into play. There
were village elders among the converts. They knew
that they would lose none of the authority which their
village system had given them. By their baptism they
practically became deacons, and the old authority was
to be exercised under the new regime. As I went about
in that grove, helping the preachers, I reached conclu-
sions in my own way. I knew my field. I had learned
that villages have characteristics like individuals. When
the men and women of a village stood before me, I
could tell in a general way what might be expected from
them, seconded by the preacher or teacher or Bible
woman who had instructed them. I knew families, too.
There were families whose members by a foregone
conclusion could be trusted in their religious profession,
as in other matters. There were other families whose
members had to be helped in their good intentions.

By long practice I had acquired a faculty of reading
these Madiga faces. I was forced to do this, lest I
be deceived too often. The people said sometimes, "It
is of no use to tell lies to our Clough Dhora; he can
look through our eyes, and take the untruths out of
our heads and show them to us.'' Often when the
preachers had done their work with a group of con-
verts, and had placed them in line for me to see, I
walked along the line several times, and then began to
pick out one here, and one there, asking them to stand
on one side. After talking with them, I generally advised

NINE THOUSAND IN SIX WEEKS 283

them to wait, and learn more. Then the preachers smiled
and said that they, too, had had doubts, but lacking suf-
ficient reason for rejecting these candidates, had allowed
them to stand in line. We used our habits of dis-
crimination. What we had done all along, we did
now, only on a larger scale.

The preachers had simple bu. conclusive signs by
which they knew whether a man was converted. They
said : "When men stopped drinking intoxicating sarai,
and fighting, and eating carrion, and working on Sun-
days, and bowing to idols, we knew that there was a
change. They came then and sat with the Christians,
when they sang hymns and prayed, and were willing to
listen when we told them about our Lord Jesus." With
a few questions now, in that grove, the preachers could
ascertain the definiteness with which the step was taken,
whether the essential truths of the Christian religion
had been comprehended and the life of Jesus had become
a reality. They asked the converts whether they were
ready to prove their faith in the Christ by facing the
hardships which might arise. It would have been dif-
ficult to find a more ignorant, downtrodden multitude
of people on the face of the earth than these were.
Yet we somehow could tell whether they had taken a
firm hold upon the life which is in Jesus Christ.

There were many whom we had to refuse. They
had come because the rest came. Thousands went away,
rejected. We did it in all kindness. Most of them were
received a year or two later. Some were permanently
weaned from us. When the preachers afterwards came
to their villages, they would not give them a welcome.
They said, "We came to Vellumpilly to be baptized and
were set aside. Now go to those whom you then re-
ceived." This was the hard part of it. The preachers
often said afterwards that they had little trouble to keep

284 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

those who were baptized from straying. The trouble
came through those whom we refused. Yet we knew
of no other way to do.

The tamarind grove was close to the Gundlacumma
River, one of the largest rivers of that region, which
was forded at ordinary times, and crossed on rafts in
the rainy season. The river bed was about an eighth
of a mile across. The military high road from Ongole
to Hyderabad led down a steep incline to the river at
right angles. Just above the place where the road en-
tered the river, the traveler's bungalow had been located,
and the grove of trees had been planted. At this time,
owing to the recent rains, the river was full, but not
overflowing its banks. At the juncture of road and
river we found the right depth of water for our purpose.
Nothing could have met our needs better than the nat-
ural facilities here offered, with the shady grove, and
the river with an ample river bank.

We began baptizing in the afternoon of that first day,
July 2, 1878. The total of that day was 614. The
people of the Darsi taluk had been the first. We gath-
ered them together toward evening and I talked with
them. I told them to serve the Lord Jesus faithfully.
With happy faces they promised to stand firmly in their
new life. I prayed with them and committed them
to our Master and his care, and sent them on their way.
Thus I did with one company after another. I encour-
aged those who were going home disappointed. I told
them what to do, and how to increase their knowledge
and faith. I assured them that we wanted them to grow
in Christian life and then to unite with us. When night
fell the first day, large numbers were on their way home,
but equal numbers were on the way, coming.

Early the next morning Thaluri Daniel came with
Podili people. The Kanigiri preachers had arrived with

NINE THOUSAND IN SIX WEEKS 285

a large contingent. Anumiah came with people from
the Cumbum and Markapur taluks. Bezwada Paul was
there with a large number. They all told me that the
people, wholly oblivious to their protests, had contentedly
walked several nights in succession, resting during the
heat of the day, where they could find shade. There
was the sound of many voices around that bungalow.
The grove was swarming with people. My diary, giv-
ing only short entries of facts, said there must have
been 5,000 people present that morning. As the Hindus
calculate crowds, there were "five acres of people."

The preachers and I now worked as one man. There
was complete understanding between them and me. We
were accustomed to dealing with large numbers, but this
was more than we had ever seen. We held firmly to-
gether. The people saw that we knew what we were
doing, and when we gave an order, they obeyed us.
Baptismal scenes on the banks of rivers were not new
to us. Ten years before I talked of dedicating the
rivers of that region by baptizing converts into them, in
the name of Jesus. The only difference now lay in
the numbers. But we had known for some time that
something of this kind was bound to come. We now
held to our course.

On the second day, Wednesday, July 3, 1878, we
began early. When the sun rose, a large group was by
the river bank. A still larger group was in the grove.
The old preachers of the mission were in full force in
both places. Periah was there. All the men, who long
before had sat at the feet of Raja Yoga teachers and then
had led their people into the heritage of a new religion,
were there. Humbly and conscientiously they per-
formed the strenuous task of that day. Their labors
had brought back the days of early Christianity. The

286 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

Lord Jesus could not have been far away. His name
was spoken that day thousands of times.

At half past four, just at sunrise, we began to bap-
tize. We had a great day's work before us. With a
short intermission at noon, we continued the baptism till
sunset. Each preacher had the list of those who were
baptized from his field. When in the evening we put
the lists together, we found that we had baptized that
day 2,222.

We had not finished. There were still many left. We
began the third day soon after sunrise, and continued
till ten o'clock — just five hours. The number was 700.
The three days brought us the total of 3,536.

I did not baptize anyone myself during those days.
Some one with authority had to be there to direct, and
to see that order prevailed. I stood on a bank, ten feet
high, overlooking the baptismal scene, and at the same
time close to the grove. To those near by I could call
from where I stood; to those at a little distance I sent
messengers, telling them what to do. I was in touch
with everyone and knew what was going on every-
where. Often I left my place on the bank and went
about in the grove, helping the preachers. We had
to hold out against the pressure of those whom we
had to refuse. It saved the preachers from the ill-will
of disappointed ones, if I came and spoke a decisive
word. Then I went back to the bank. I knew I was
witnessing a great event. I had the feelings of a man
who is doing his duty, no matter what the consequences
may be. I submitted to the hand of God.

Our six ordained men were there. They took turns,
two officiating at a time. The names of the candi-
dates were read. Without delay and without confusion
one followed another. As one preacher pronounced the

NINE THOUSAND IN SIX WEEKS 287

formula: "I baptize thee in the name of the Father,
the Son, and the Holy Ghost," the other preacher had a
candidate before him, and was ready again to speak
those words and to baptize him likewise.

Whenever the people from a taluk, who were going
home together in the same direction, were ready, they
came to ask, in the oriental way, for permission to go
home. From all I took the promise that they would be
faithful Christians. With them all I prayed, committing
them to the Lord Jesus, and asking him to keep them
in his care even unto death. With many salaams they
turned homeward, giving little thought to the weary
miles that stretched out before them.

On the afternoon of the third day I returned to
Ongole. Our work was not yet done. I held a con-
ference with the preachers. They felt deeply concerned
about the three or four thousand more who were out on
the field, waiting for baptism. They had obeyed my
request and had stayed at home. It would cause them
sore disappointment when now they heard that if they
had come they might have been received. They would
grow disheartened with long waiting. The preachers
urged me to do something about this, and without
delay. They felt they could not go back to their fields
and meet these people, and try to satisfy them with
mere promises. They wanted something definite to be
done in the matter. I saw that they were right.

We decided to fix on two centers which the people
could easily reach, one in the direction of Kanigiri and
Podili and Darsi; the other toward the north, where
the people from the northern taluks could easily come.
If I were to go to both those centers, it would con-
sume a good deal of time, calculating for delays by rain
and bad roads and other possibilities. I proposed to
the men that I come to the northern center, and that I

288 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

ask Dr. Williams to go to the southern center. By his
work in the seminary he had come in touch with many
of the preachers and Christians, especially from the
southern taluks. They agreed to this. They told me
they would do preliminary work on their fields, and
have ever^^one in readiness. If I sent them messengers
a day or two before Dr. Williams and I expected to
reach those centers, they would have the people as-
sembled. They went on their errand, and I meanwhile
sent an urgent request to Dr. Williams, who was on the
Nilgiri Hills at the close of the seminary vacation, to
come without delay and help us. He came, and, as an
eye-witness, sent the following account to Boston :

'Tn answer to the earnest pleadings of Brother Clough
for help, I went to Ongole a few days before the seminary
opened. I intended to return very soon, but found that the
demand for help was so great that duty was clear. Brother
Clough and his helpers were literally crowded upon by the
people who were pressing into the kingdom of God. I saw
what few missionaries have seen.

''More than a thousand people from one of the Ongole
hamlets came into the compound, and gave up their idols.
They showed how they had worshiped them in former
times with music and dancing around the idols, and then
said that henceforth they would worship the living God,
who had helped them in time of trouble. They declared
that they believed in Christ, the only Saviour of the world.
Brother Clough accepted their idols as trophies of the
cross, and with earnest words exhorted them to continue
steadfast in the faith.

''Sunday was a glorious day. The morning was fine ; and
the large meeting-house was filled, every foot of space,
while a large number stood outside at the doors and win-
dows. Besides these, many heard the word in other parts
of Ongole at the same time from Rungiah, Ezra, and others.
I had the privilege of preaching to the great congregation.

NINE THOUSAND IN SIX WEEKS 289

They heard the word with great interest. In the afternoon
we saw about three hundred buried with Christ in baptism.
"You will remember that I wrote in my last letter of
the signs of the times. Great as this ingathering is, it is
not beyond my anticipations. When we think how many
earnest men are at work on the field, who go day after day
telling the simple story of the Cross and pleading with their
fellow-men to turn unto God, and remember what God has
promised, who could look for less?"

All was in readiness. Messengers were sent out, as
the preachers had requested. Dr. Williams started on
Tuesday, July i6, and had his camp at Nundamarilla
in the southern taluks. I started three days later and
went to Comalpaud in the northern taluks. We could
not consult each other, nor was there any need of it.
The preachers had complete control of the situation.
Everyone knew what was required, and held to it.
When I arrived in Ongole, after six days, I found Dr.
Williams waiting for me. The harvest where he had
been had risen to 1,850, while the total in the northern
taluks had been 1,031. Most of these, had we given
them permission, would have come to Vellumpilly. It
would have brought the number there to 6,000. But
it was well that the mass baptism was thus divided
between three centers. It increased the definiteness of
the events in the minds of all who partook in them, or
heard about them.

This finished the ingathering. In six weeks — 39
days — we had baptized 8,691. During the remaining
five months of the year we baptized nearly 1,000 more,
making a total for 1878 of 9,606. Our church member-
ship at the close of 1878 was 12,804, living in about
400 villages. The number of our adherents was very
large. The Madiga community was stirred. Those

290 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

who were baptized were all Madigas, with the exception
of a few who were Malas, or men of subcastes. It was
a tribal movement. The caste people looked on, and saw
the submerged tenth of their social order shaken in the
grip of a power that tended toward something higher.
It was the day of early Christianity over again, when
"the common people heard him gladly/'

Almost before we knew it, it was all over. The
prophecies of the founder of the mission, forty years
before, had come to pass. The "much people" of Dr.
Jewett were there. The "multitude of the elect" of
which I began to talk soon after landing in India was
now before my eyes. The "being too busy baptizing"
to be able to attend to anything else, which was one
of Mr. Timpany's visions, had happened. It all
evidently had to come. It was in the divine plan.

We may dwell on all the circumstances of the case :
the many years of work which had preceded this event,
and the tendency toward this movement by reason of
tribal spirit and family cohesion. We may admit also
that motives of greed fostered by the memory of Chris-
tian benevolence during the famine may have lurked
in many a head. Yet though we take this all into con-
sideration, we shall find that we have given only a
partial explanation. Jesus was in it. He had slowly
led up to this; he made me willing to take up the
load ; and he kept that multitude afterwards from going
astray.

A cyclone came and altered the course of the Gundla-
cumma River at Vellumpilly. The place of the great
baptism was washed away; the bank where I stood fell;
the grove of tamarind trees was uprooted. Most of the
multitude have gone to be with Jesus. Those faithful
preachers, too, have gone. I am still here, but cannot
remain long. Jesus only is left. He still reigns.

XVII

CHRISTENDOM FACING A NEW PENTECOST

Two lines of action were open to me now regarding
the event which had come to pass in the Ongole Mission.
One was to place it prominently before the public in
articles which I might have written. The other was to
send the plain, simple facts to headquarters in Boston,
and let the officers of our society deal with the publica-
tion of them. I chose the latter course.

Under much pressure of work I began a letter to
Boston. Brief in stating the fact that we had raised
the gates of the church and were now receiving converts
almost daily, my letter carried an urgent appeal for help.
I told of the way other missionary societies were meet-
ing similar emergencies. One of these had sent to India
ten new missionaries. I added:

"Here, with an equal or greater harvest, I am all alone.
Send help at once — men and money. Do not plead hard
times. God has the money, and will give it if you call; else,
it seems to me, a mistake is being made here in calling so
many to righteousness."

This letter was left unfinished on my desk when I
hastened off to Vellumpilly, determined to persuade the
multitude to turn back home. Three days later I re-
turned, and the following morning I proceeded, as a first
duty, to close up that letter. I gave all the dates and

291

292 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

figures thus far. I said, "The Lord hath done great
things for us, whereof we are glad." I closed with an
appeal, "Send out the best Baptist pastor and evangelist
in all America at once. Do not delay.'' It was a dis-
connected letter, full of repetitions, holding itself to the
facts, bearing on the face of it the evidence of being
the document of a man who is bound to state what has
happened, and is clamoring for adequate backing.

When this letter reached Boston, Dr. Warren heard
of it. He came in from his home in Newton Center
and went to Dr. Murdock's office. Leaning on his cane,
grown prematurely old through suffering, yet with the
keen, indomitable eye of a prophet, he asked for that
letter. He wanted all the details that had thus far been
received. He sat and read it all, and pondered. The
door was then closed : those two men knelt to pray. Six
years later, after I had come home just in time to say
good-bye to Dr. Warren, with a last grasp of the hand.
Dr. Murdock told me of that prayer: "How he loved
you and prayed for you . . . that the Lord would bear
you up under the great pressure, that he would keep the
'babes in Christ' as he called them." From this office,
where two men knelt together and took counsel together,
the tidings of the Ongole ingathering were sent over the
Christian world.

I could count on those two men. Dr. Warren was
the prophet of my day. Dr. Murdock furnished support
of a different type. His mind was of the legal cast.
With a wide sweep of statesmanship, he knew how to
grasp a situation and hold it with a firm hand. He sus-
tained me during those critical years, and wrote to me
afterwards, "In season and out of season I have stood by
your work and your methods of work." With a mas-
terly reticence and moderation he now became the spokes-
man in America of that movement in the Far East.

CHRISTENDOM FACING A NEW PENTECOST 293

The simple, bare facts of the case were allowed to
make their way, unaided. My letter was printed in full
in the Baptist Missionary Magazine for September, 1878.
A short editorial paragraph called attention to it, and
asked, "Do the records of modern missions contain any-
thing like this?" There were no head-lines, nothing to
catch the eye of the reader. The Missionary Magazine
in those years was widely read. In many churches it
was customary to hold a missionary concert on the
first Sunday evening of the month. The warmth with
which these concerts were held generally indicated the
measure of zeal expended on home activities. When
now my letter was read to the churches on these mis-
sionary evenings, throughout the denomination, "many
hearts were thrilled with the tidings therein communi-
cated." The weekly religious journals took it up, and
brought the information to a wider circle of readers. To
many the story seemed incredible. Some were bound
to find out what it all meant. They wrote to Boston
and asked, "Can it be true ? Is there not some mistake
in the figures? Were there two thousand two hundred
and twenty-two baptized in one day?" They were as-
sured that the printers and proofreaders were not at
fault.

A great demand arose for additional information. Re-
quests were sent to the Mission Rooms for further
detail. At missionary concerts they wanted to know
more. Who were these Telugus? The October number
of the Missionary Magazine brought a lengthy editorial.
The men at headquarters now spoke. They gave the
side of the story that concerned the churches. There
was an urgent call now, ringing through the denomina-
tion. It was not the cry of some destitute, sinking en-
terprise : it was the call of success. The Executive Com-
mittee refused to be held responsible if there was delay

294 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

in the response. The churches must rise and do their
duty. Men began to feel as if they had the uttermost
parts of the earth at their door in this loud demand
from a Pariah tribe for a place in the coming of Christ's
kingdom. Another long letter from me was published
during October. I wrote:

"Thousands more. I cannot write in detail. God was
with us, and glorified himself. A multitude were baptized
— 3,262 in all. These make, with those already reported,
8,691 baptized from June 16 to July 31, inclusive. To God
be all the praise now and through all eternity!

"Our school at Ongole is now full of men of all ages up
to forty years or more, who are trying to learn to read,
that they may go to their villages and teach their neighbors
and children to read 'God's letters to men.' I need, to meet
the demand made upon me, two hundred teachers to-day.
. . . Many could find most of their support among the peo-
ple. So anxious are they to learn to read that, though the
converts have no more than half enough to eat, yet the
teachers would not go hungry."

The leaders at the Mission Rooms, in touch with the
life of the churches, found that with many the attitude
toward foreign missions was undergoing a change.
Calm, critical interest was being transformed into real
enthusiasm. "Tell us more about your Telugu Mission,"
was the request from every side. Pastors and intelligent
members of churches were "beginning for the first time
to study with care and zeal the subject of foreign mis-
sions." They frankly confessed their lack of definite
missionary information. Those foreign countries were
so far away, and they had been so occupied with their
affairs at home — they felt ashamed to find that they
knew nothing about those who lived on the other side

CHRISTENDOM FACING A NEW PENTECOST 295

of the earth. Other denominations began to take note.
A prominent Presbyterian clergyman wrote, "We con-
fess ourselves amazed that the whole Baptist Church
in America is not so moved and thrilled with a holy
enthusiasm as to more than double its prayers and gifts
and efforts in a single year."

My appeal for a helper brought response. Two lay-
men sent their checks to the Mission Rooms to provide
outfit, passage and support for one year of a missionary
family. The man, too, was found. Dr. W. B. Boggs,
with Mrs. Boggs, both from Canada, were on the way
to India before the close of the year. They were familiar
with the Telugu language, and were thus equipped to
render valuable service as soon as they reached the field.
They were a strong reenforcement. But what was one
man, when ten men ought to have been sent — sent with-
out delay?

Next the Baptist Sunday schools were heard from.
They were coming to the front, it seems, for the first
time in denominational history. Those baptisms out in
the Telugu Mission were facts that children could lay
hold of; they were willing to bring their offerings for
something which they could understand. One Sunday
school after another sent something toward the project
of sending forward another man, close on the steps of
the one already on the way. It was missionary training
for the rising generation.

I knew nothing of this enthusiasm. Week after week
passed by. I wondered many a time what was going
to become of the situation. My Master, Jesus, must
have upheld me and given me the assurance that I did
right in baptizing that multitude. Yet my anxiety found
expression in the following letter to headquarters, dated
September 17, 1878:

296 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

"I rejoice with trembling, not because I doubt the good-
ness of God and his promises, but are the American Bap-
tists going to stand by me? Or are they going to hear of
the great revival among the Telugus, rejoice for a day, then
forget us nearly, and leave the great multitude just out of
heathenism upon me? I think of this forgetfulness of
Americans, said to be a national characteristic, and at times
feel oppressed. When at home in 1872-3 I often said, The
Telugus are going to come to Jesus just as fast as the
Telugu missionaries and the American Baptists are ready
and prepared to teach the converts the "all things whatso-
ever I have commanded you." ' But, brethren, this is a task
which but few, either in India or America, can fully under-
stand. When a convert is baptized, the hard work is only
begun ; for there must be precept upon precept, line upon
line, here a little and there a little — or rather I should say,
here a good deal and there a good deal.

"The total number baptized up to date, since June 15,
is 9,147. Is this too large a blessing? Is it not what you
have been praying for? Are the converts unacceptable,
because so many? Are we not after all the Telugus?
We — my native preachers and myself — believe in the Lord
Jesus Christ, and in preaching the Gospel. We baptize
those only whom we have reason to believe He has regener-
ated. How can we do otherwise ?

"Englishmen in India and England begin to look upon
the Telugu Mission with much interest. They know that
the American Baptists, professedly, provide all the funds
needed for ordinary mission work; hence, until they know
that you either cannot or will not do all that is necessary,
I cannot ask them to aid in ordinary cases with money.
They would think that they were robbing you of a precious
privilege. . . ."

Help was coming. A few days after I had sent off
this letter, a cable message came from Dr. Murdock,
dated September 25, 1878, containing five words:
"Rupees eleven thousand for work." My diary says:

CHRISTENDOM FACING A NEW PENTECOST 297

"What glorious news! The Lord is again better than
all our fears and weak faith." I could now proceed to
draw into line every man and woman whose services
were valuable to teach the multitude the "all things
needful." I subsidized these workers; the people did
the rest. In scores of Christian villages the people had
begged me to help them build a school house. They
said if I would pay for the beam and rafters, they would
erect the mud-walls and furnish the thatch. This could
now be taken in hand. We filled our station school with
prospective workers. Our most urgent needs were met.
I saw that I was not going to lack support and there-
fore took courage.

The Executive Committee of our Foreign Mission So-
ciety formed a stronghold to me. They were nine men, all
prominent in their walks in life. Their point of view
varied; some were eminent in the religious life of the
denomination; others had business capacity; they all,
somehow, believed in the movement at Ongole. Month
after month they sat in council together and saw money
poured out from the treasury upon mission fields that
were stony and hard. When now the cry of much har-
vest rang in their ears, they praised God. There might
be risk in the numbers and in the ignorance of the con-
verts : they were willing to take the risk. They bore
with me when now I was continually clamoring for sup-
port, and patiently explained to the churches what was
needed. They never knew what unusual situation I
might spring upon them, demanding a careful inquiry
into oriental conditions far removed from their daily
routine — yet they were unwavering in their loyalty.
Leading men in the denomination sometimes expressed
apprehension concerning the rapid expansion of the
Telugu Mission. Some asked whether, under the un-
usual circumstances of our growth, the tenets of our de-

298 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

nomination were safeguarded. The men of the Execu-
tive Committee never showed anxiety. They had seen
the hand of God moving in the Telugu Mission and
were unafraid.

From many directions earnest requests had been sent
to the Mission Rooms to set apart a day for a special
thanksgiving service, to be observed by all the churches.
The Executive Committee, in a document signed by each
member, called upon the churches to praise God in their
sanctuaries on a day appointed by them — the first Sun-
day in December, 1878. Printed matter was sent out
to every pastor, and to every Sunday school superin-
tendent throughout the Baptist churches in the land, set-
ting forth the leading facts in the history of the Telugu
Mission. Thank offerings were to be brought. It was
a call for concerted action, the effect of which was felt
for many a day. A few years later it was stated that
the highest point which had as yet been attained by
the donations to the mission treasury was reached under
the spur of the interest aroused by the wonderful tidings
from the Ongole field.

A thrill of joy and gratitude went through the
churches from East to West. Never before had the
Baptists been so generally and deeply moved by tidings
from their foreign mission fields; nor has there been a
similar occasion since that time. The name of Jesus
was praised in hundreds of churches on that Sunday,
as large congregations sang their best-known missionary
hymns, and heard of the spread of Christ's kingdom
beyond the seas. Along the line of our three miles of
canal the name of Jesus had been spoken all day long,
while men were digging; it was spoken thousands of
times during the days of the ingathering at Vellumpilly;
it was repeated ten thousand times now, throughout the
length and breadth of the United States, by the men

CHRISTENDOM FACING A NEW PENTECOST 299

and women and children of the Baptist churches. Orient
and Occident were brought together. A long stride was
made that day toward the larger sense of brotherhood,
which binds together men of different races.

Amid all the rejoicing, there were some in the
churches who were "amazed and in doubt, saying one
to another, What meaneth this?" They inquired with
deep interest whether these thousands who had come out
of heathenism had all experienced a genuine conversion.
Revivals on a large scale sometimes swept over our
Christian communities in America and England dur-
ing those years. The religious life of cities and
towns was shaken when some prominent evangelist
joined forces with the pastors of a vicinity. There were
accessions to the churches. Sometimes there was much
falling away afterwards. Those who had gained an in-
sight into the nature of revivals wanted to know wherein
the Telugu revival differed from those in Christian lands.
The reply from the Mission Rooms was that if those
multitudes were merely renouncing their idolatrous wor-
ship, and were flocking to hear what the teachers of
Christianity had to offer as a substitute, it would be a
remarkable fact; but that it seemed to be much more
than a turning away from idols. Men were feeling after
information that would give them the social background
for that movement. They thought that in some form
natural causes must have been at work, otherwise the
event would have to be regarded as simply a miracle.
I never attempted to explain that there had been a social
uprising as the result of the coming of Christianity. I
was so much a part of that mass movement that I found
it difficult to point out to others the social causes back of
it. We practiced the substance of what later came to be
called Social Christianity.

The 'Tone Star" tract was in great demand. It had

300 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

been written at an opportune time. Five years previously
Dr. Jewett was in America, on furlough. He accom-
panied Dr. W. S. McKenzie, district secretary of our For-
eign Mission Society, on a tour for special meetings in
the New England States. One night, after holding a
meeting in some country church, they went to a farm-
house to sleep over night, expecting to move on next
day. In the little farmhouse bedroom they sat and talked
far into the night. All the traditions of the Telugu Mis-
sion with which Dr. Jewett stirred my soul on the sailing
vessel, rounding the Cape in 1864, he now told to Dr.
McKenzie: about the "Lone Star" debate in Albany in
1853, about Prayer Meeting Hill, about his refusal to
be transferred to some other mission. He drew out his
pocketbook, and from it took a scrap of paper, some-
what soiled. Handling it as if it were something sacred,
he passed it over to his listener with the question, "Have
you ever seen that poem?" It was the famous "Lone
Star" poem. No one for many a year had seen it. It is
said that Dr. Smith, when he was shown the scrap of
paper a few days later, seemed scarcely to remember his
own production, and wanted to know where it had been
obtained. Dr. Jewett laid his treasure into reverent
hands when he gave the "Lone Star" poem to Dr. Mc-
Kenzie, who presided at its rebirth, by writing the "Lone
Star" tract. It was ready when the ingathering came.
In the years that followed, 300,000 copies of it went
broadcast over the land. The "Lone Star" poem re-
sounded through the Baptist churches north and south,
east and west. It was set to music, and sung with
thrilling effect, by vast congregations.

The facts set forth by this tract seemed to furnish an
explanation of the ingathering. Spiritual force had been
engendered by the long years of holding on by faith and
prayer. When men referred to the work of the Holy

CHRISTENDOM FACING A NEW PENTECOST 3OI

Spirit in modern missions they pointed to this as an ex-
ample. To many, at that time, rehgion was a thing
apart. That there should be fellowship between religion
and social betterment was a proposition which had yet
to be clearly enunciated. We men on the foreign field
made our contribution toward bringing the possibility
of union between the two into clear outline. The fact
that our famine camp preceded the ingathering was to
many the first lesson of the kind. They began by doubt-
ing such mingling of the spiritual and the temporal.
They ended by saying : Why not ?

The story of the Pentecostal baptism at Ongole found
its way into religious publications the world over. To
the Baptists it was a denominational experience in
which other religious organizations shared. Men of va-
rious creeds saw that it threw light upon an important
occurrence in the early Church. Thus far it had been
taken for granted by many that the baptism of the 3,000
at Pentecost could not have been by immersion, be-
cause it seemed a practical impossibility. This objec-
tion was now removed. It had been done on the foreign
mission field, in a way that was upheld by the denomina-
tion at home. Modern missions had furnished an illus-
tration for the history of early Christianity.

Men of large affairs and business capacity took note
of the Telugu revival. They saw the spiritual meaning
of it and were stirred. Naturally they were affected
by the concrete results. The missionary motive de-
manded an outlay of money. It seemed to them that the
Telugu Mission justified investment. My requests
sounded like a business proposition with a missionary ap-
peal attached. They could not refuse me. Sometimes,
when in America on furlough I went to rich business men
who were known to be unwilling to give for missions,
and told them how many thousand dollars I expected

302 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

them to give for the Telugu Mission. They said I had
come to the wrong person. Before I left their office they
had mentally parted with their money, and their check
followed later. It was our spiritual success that con-
quered men who had achieved success in commercial life.
Six months after the ingathering, a discriminating eye-
witness came to Ongole, Hon. Robert O. Fuller, a prom-
inent Boston business man, a member of our Executive
Committee for years, and a man whose judgment car-
ried weight. After his return, in answer to many ques-
tions, at an important meeting in Philadelphia, he said:

'*As a stockholder in the missionary enterprise I wanted
to know if the dividends were honestly earned and declared.
Accordingly, in the course of my recent journey around the
world, I visited, as far as possible, our missions in Asia and
Europe. I went to the Telugu Mission, traveling 2,000
miles out of my way and spending three weeks to do so. I
found Mr. Clough in the northern part of it. I stayed there
five days, and studied him closely. During the famine, such
was the confidence felt in him that the government made a
grant of several hundred thousand rupees, putting it all in
his hands, asking no bond or security. He executed public
works, and saved the people from starving.

*T spent a Sunday with Mr. Clough. The chapel was
crowded with people, sitting on the floor. I heard him ex-
amine candidates. About three-fourths of those who applied
were received. After the baptism I saw many of the peo-
ple following Mr. Clough, and pleading with him for some-
thing. I inquired what they were asking for, and found
that they were begging for teachers, to go to their villages,
so that their children should not fall away."

This testimony gave confidence to many leading men
in the denomination.

A hard task was now before me. Mrs. Clough and I
had been slowly coming to the conclusion that it would

CHRISTENDOM FACING A NEW PENTECOST 303

be necessary on account of her impaired health, and on
account of our children, that she should go to America
and make a home for them there. The two older chil-
dren, whom we had left behind in America when we
returned to India five years before, had been holding
out bravely without their parents, but they had been on
our minds constantly, and we found the separation hard
to bear. Two of the three who were with us in Ongole
were of an age when India was no longer the place for
them. Then there was my aged mother, who always
remembered the time when she lived with us before we
went to India. She, too, looked for our coming, and
longed to find a home with us. We faced the situation,
and found that we would have to break up the home in
Ongole, leaving me there alone with my servants, while
Mrs. Clough settled in Kalamazoo, Michigan, to make a
home for our children and my mother.

This question of the separation of families is one of
the hardest we have to meet in our missionary life.
I never forgot the look on the faces of my children,
when they were led away and knew they would not see
their father again for a long time. The weekly foreign
mail days in Ongole sometimes satisfied the heart, but
more often accentuated the strain of separation. Then
when I saw my children again, the years of their de-
velopment without their father lay between us. They
had grown to young manhood and young womanhood,
and I found myself under the necessity of becoming
acquainted with my own children.

It was a sad day for the Ongole Mission when Mrs.
Clough left the bungalow and the compound, with tears
she could not control, while the native people were griev-
ing as if they were losing their mother. She had stood
at her post for fifteen years. The people loved her and
trusted her. I sailed with her and the children and was

304 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

considering the plan of making a short stay in America.
After we reached England, a letter came to me from
Dr. Murdock, dated June 14, 1879, in which he said:

**We would all dearly love to see you and it would
doubtless be useful if we could have a good talk. But
there are so many people who regard the work in your dis-
trict with a kind of alarm, they are so full of apprehension
as to what is to become of the 10,000, that a knowledge of
the fact that you are not among them would be quite dis-
turbing, if not disheartening. In short, the Committee do
not think it is expedient for you to come among us just at
this time, unless you are able to plead a personal necessity.
I am glad you have taken the sea-voyage, and we all hope
it will set you up and make you strong for another good
pull among the Telugus."

Acting upon this advice, I took my family on board
the steamer bound for America. Then I hastened back
to the work which required my presence, and to the
bungalow which I knew I should have to occupy alone
for many a year. I had been absent from Ongole three
months. Dr. and Mrs. Boggs had successfully cared
for the interests of the work. The staff of helpers
had been full of zeal. They now came to Ongole for
a quarterly meeting. Dr. Boggs reported of this:

"Five months had passed since the last meeting, a much
longer interval than usual, and the workers were hungry
for the affectionate counsel and hearty encouragement
which awaited them. Brother Clough had returned the day
before, after a few months' absence. The people expected
him. It was a time of enthusiastic joy."

The chapel was packed that Sunday. The accounts
from the field were good. With the exception of a few

CHRISTENDOM FACING A NEW PENTECOST 305

cases of inconsistent conduct and partial conformity to
heathen customs, all the Christians were reported to be
steadfast in the faith. I felt the warmth of their affection
for me. The outlook was good. It upheld my faith and
courage.

During that summer, in June, 1879, the Decennial
Missionary Conference for South India and Ceylon had
met in Bangalore. In this important conference twenty-
five missionary societies were represented, from Eng-
land, Scotland, America and Germany. It was an in-
terdenominational body, of a kind which in later years
became possible in the home land also. Men on the
foreign field set the pace. In their need for fellow-
ship they drew together in a common cause. Six days
were given to the reading of carefully prepared papers,
followed by discussions. Two good-sized volumes con-
tain the records.

A day was given to deliberation concerning the recent
accessions to Christian missions located in the famine
area, extending over parts of the Telugu and Tamil
country. In five Protestant missions there had been
more than 50,000 applicants. The Roman Catholic
Church of South India had enrolled probably twice that
number. It was a new feature in missionary enterprise,
and all were interested in it.

The mode of procedure concerned the men of the Con-
ference, because in an indirect way they all were affected
by it. The five missions which had had accessions
were of different denominations. They varied in their
methods. Four of them had pursued a similar course
so far as the reception of these converts was con-
cerned. They had baptized into church membership
less than one fourth of the applicants. The large ma-
jority had been received as probationers, who had placed
themselves under instruction, and had been enrolled as

306 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

such. It was a careful, cautious mode of procedure
which had the commendation of all. We Baptists stood
alone in the course we had taken, letting baptism follow
upon profession of faith. The interest was therefore
centered upon us. There was demand for informa-
tion. I was in England. Dr. Jewett was present. Dr.
Downie of Nellore read a paper on the accessions in
our mission, and he stood his ground in explaining, and
at the same time defending, our course of action. He
had not been an eye-witness, but had informed himself.
He explained the tenets of our denomination, and pointed
out that I had adhered to them. This did not con-
vince the men of the Conference.

They all had come more or less in contact with the
Pariahs of South India, and knew their clannish readi-
ness to imitate and follow each other. They had found
that the native church, also, was bound to be affected by
this tendency. To apply the Baptist individualistic prin-
ciple to Asiatics of this type, placing the responsibility
upon the convert, seemed to them a hazardous under-
taking. They felt the missionary ought to shoulder
the responsibility. Applying this to my case, it was a
foregone conclusion that I could not be expected to be
informed definitely about the spiritual condition of
10,000 converts. It seemed to the members of the Con-
ference that my course of action not only marked a
departure from the mode of procedure of all other mis-
sionary societies over the famine area, but that it
amounted to a violation of the principles of my own
denomination. The discussion was lengthy. There
were those who were in favor of an expression of
opinion from the Conference, as opposed to my course.
Some one was getting ready to propose a vote of cen-
sure.

A man then rose and turned the tide. He was a mem-

CHRISTENDOM FACING A NEW PENTECOST 307

ber of the American Methodist Episcopal Society. For
years deeply engaged in revival work, both in America
and in India, he had an insight into the hidden springs
and sources of great revivals. He knew that spiritual
power is necessary to rouse even one single human being
out of the apathy of everyday life. Where groups of
men, and especially where a multitude of men woke up
enough to inquire for spiritual truth — he saw a
miracle. Large of build, and large of heart, this man,
with a great, resounding voice, made himself heard as
he said that while he had no personal acquaintance with
the movement at Ongole, he yet believed that the Spirit
of God was in it. He called upon the Conference to
praise God for these converts. The chairman then closed
the discussion by "emphatically repudiating the idea of
making any inquisitorial investigation into the recent
occurrences in the American Baptist Mission.'* The aim
had been simply to gain reliable information. I heard
of it all when I returned to India. I cannot say that
I did not feel it keenly. But I continued in my course
unmoved, because I believed that God had shown me the
way, and that I must walk in it.

The whole question of dealing with masses of people
who came out of heathenism, seeking salvation in the
Christian religion, was at that time regarded in the light
of denominational tenets. These movements were to be
adapted to the inherited church polity. I had broken
away from this, under the pressure of circumstances.
When that Conference met ten years later, the scene had
shifted. Other missions, notably the American Meth-
odist Episcopal Mission, had come to conclusions similar
to mine. The leather workers in northern India, who
stood on the same lowest rung of the social ladder as
our Madigas, were coming over to Christianity in thou-

308 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

sands. There was no famine at that time, yet the num-
bers were greater than with us, ten years before. Masses
of people were seeking salvation.

Again Christendom was facing the question of mass
movements. More recognition was given to the fact
that Asiatic peoples, of tribal origin, must be ex-
pected to come in masses when once moved. An increas-
ing number of missionaries saw that the question should
be lifted beyond the range of denominationalism. We
reverted to early Christianity. We adopted the mode of
procedure stated in the Acts of the Apostles by receiving
"multitudes both of men and women." We answered
the people as Peter did, when he said : "Repent and be
baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ
for the remission of sins." The majority of mission-
aries were conservative; they held that the only safe
course was to receive the people one by one, or in small
groups. Yet the fact that we, at Ongole, stood unmoved
after our large accessions, and had seen no cause for
regret, gave occasion to many to come to the conclusion
that the policy of immediate baptism was not without
testimony in its favor. Moreover, the churches at home
took note. They saw that modern missions formulated
a demand for a universal church of Christ into which
masses of people could be received, unaffected by the
differences which divide Christendom.

Wholly above and beyond the questions of method
and procedure, I sometimes came to feel the pulse-beat
of spiritual life in the men who formed the background
of the missionary enterprise. Never was this more
eminently the case than when, in March, 1881, Dr. S.
F. Smith came to Ongole. In his beautiful old age,
with Mrs. Smith, he was making the tour of Asiatic
missions. Like a triumphal march it seemed, as they
proceeded from place to place, while we all tried to

CHRISTENDOM FACING A NEW PENTECOST 3O9

make their journey easy for them in an oriental way.
They were a royal couple.

They stayed with me in Ongole ten days. Dr. Smith
went about in the hamlets of Ongole and saw how the
people lived. Many of our workers had come to On-
gole to see him. I said, ''Here is a man who has grown
old in our Christian religion, a man who is counted
among the great men of my country. Ask him whether
the religion of Jesus Christ has ever failed him." For
two hours, with an interpreter to help them, they asked
him questions. Christians and caste people alike felt
that they had some one before them far above the
ordinary. He bore himself like a prophet of old, mov-
ing about freely among the people ; even the poorest had
access to him.

One morning early we went to the top of Prayer
Meeting Hill. The sun had just risen. We had a wide
outlook. I pointed out one Christian hamlet after an-
other, as far as the eye could see — all of them seen
only with the eye of faith thirty years before. We sat
down on boulders on the spot which many years before
Dr. Jewett had pointed out to me as the place where
that memorable meeting was held. We sang Dr. Smith's
hymn, 'The Morning Light Is Breaking."

It was a wonderful occasion. Dr. Smith made a
Mount of Transfiguration of that Indian hilltop. His
face shone with an inner light. As for his prayer, it
was indescribable. My diary of that day says:

"Dr. Smith told me when we came down from the hill-
top : T felt that I had lost my independent existence — that I
was alone with God. I did not recover from this feeling
until I recollected that I was asked to pray for future bless-
ings, as well as give praise to the Lord. This done I fell
into thanksgiving again.' "

310 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

Later he wrote in his published account :

"The heavens seemed to be bowed around us to over-
shadow us. The Spirit spoke, not man. We seemed to lose
our consciousness of independent existence, and to be moved
by a divine impulse. It was not we, but God. It was not
prayer so much as a rhapsody of praise — a rare experience,
such as scarcely occurs twice in a human lifetime."

The next day was a Sunday. In our crowded chapel
Dr. Smith preached to the people a sermon full of
consolation, on the words, *'We know that all things
work together for good to them that love God." Preacher
Ezra interpreted. Converts had come; we held an
inquiry meeting that afternoon. Dr. Smith went about
among the candidates, and asked them questions. In
an all-inclusive, patriarchal way, he adjusted himself to
the limited mental horizon of the poor, ignorant be-
lievers, who expressed their faith in Jesus Christ often
by looks and gestures more than by words. Then we
went to the baptistery in our garden, under the big
tamarind tree. He baptized the ninety-six who had been
received, speaking each time the baptismal formula in
English. Preacher Ezra stood by his side and repeated
it in Telugu. Dr. Smith felt it a fulfillment of the
prophecy contained in his *'Lone Star" poem. Later
he expressed this in the closing stanzas of another poem :

"These are the plowman's garnered wealth.

Born of his toil and pain;
These are the sower's faith and tears,

Transformed to golden grain.
God watched the toilers at their work ;

And, when His wisdom willed.
The pledge His loving heart had made,

His loving hand fulfilled.

CHRISTENDOM FACING A NEW PENTECOST 3 II

"Then hail, Lone Star ! of all the wreath,

Thou art the brightest gem.
As once, o'er fair Judea's plains,

The Star of Bethlehem.
Shine on ! We learn to pray and wait,

To toil and trust, through thee, —
A star of triumph on Christ's brow,

And faith's high victory."

Three days later they left us. I said to him, "After
your visit here are your expectations realized, or are
you disappointed?" He replied, "Ask the Queen of
Sheba how she felt. Her answer is mine, 'Half was
not told me !' " Again he said, "Last Saturday and Sun-
day were the choicest days I ever lived." Then the
mother heart in Mrs. Smith asserted itself. She re-
marked to me that she feared when their son, an honored
missionary in Burma, heard how the doctor felt, he
might feel sad. To this he replied : "There is only one
Prayer Meeting Hill, and only one Telugu Mission."

Toward evening, March 17, the palanquins stood
ready, not far from the bungalow steps, and everywhere
there were groups of native people who wanted to say
salaam to our visitors once more. We still had much
to say to each other, and when finally we came out of the
house and stood on the veranda. Dr. Smith looked
toward the garden. He wanted to go to the baptistery,
where he had baptized the ninety-six. We saw him and
Mrs. Smith standing there together, communing with
God, leaving their benediction with us. Our hearts were
full. I rode with them two or three miles. The native
Christians stood and looked after us, as we left the com-
pound, many with tears in their eyes. Some said after-
wards it had been "like the coming of God." To me
their stay had brought spiritual consolation which I
sorely needed.

312 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

As I look back now, I wonder how I lived through
it all. The Lord Jesus must have helped me or I would
have run away from my task. The famine turned my
hair white as it is to-day. Then came the ingathering.
It was followed by the sense of isolation which men are
bound to feel when they have hewn a track off the beaten
road. When it was all over, the children, whether white
or black, began to call me tahta — grandfather. I was
an old man, though only forty-five years old as years are
counted.

XVIII

A CHURCH OF FIFTEEN THOUSAND MEMBERS

By reason of the famine and ingathering my usual
long tours over the field had not been made for three
years. I could go out only a few days at a time. With
Dr. Boggs now attending to the work at headquarters,
in Ongole, during my absence, it became possible for me
to visit the Christians in their villages. In the middle of
November, 1879, with plans all made for a long tour,
I started.

I was at my first camping-place, sixteen miles from
Ongole, when something happened which taught me in
an overwhelming way the instability of all things human.
On the afternoon of November 19th it began to rain
heavily. Then it poured and then it was blowing a gale. I
saw that we were just west of the center of a severe
cyclone. After two hours the wind became terrific; the
rain came in sheets ; trees were being uprooted or broken
off, branches were taken up by the wind and carried off
like feathers. My men had been digging trenches around
the tent to keep it from being flooded. Now the pegs
that held it, and the trees to which it was roped, were
giving way. The tent was splitting, and I saw it would
soon be in shreds. We dragged the luggage outside and
cut the ropes and let the tent down. The men and I
somehow made our way to the village, a quarter of a
mile away, where we found most of the houses flooded.

313

314 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

The village mnnsiff allowed us to come into his cow-
shed, twelve by eighteen feet. It was occupied by two
bullocks and a cow, two buffaloes and four goats, but we
were thankful for a shelter even as good as that. There
were three hours more of violent storm. By sundown
it had reached its height; the wind changed and the
cyclone went elsewhere, over Ongole and Ramapatnam
also, to carry destruction in its track. My six men and
I were huddled together that night in a place six by
eight feet in that shed, flooded with water, all as wet
as could be. The munsiif gave me his blanket and an
old sheet to wrap around me, and an empty grain bag
to sit on. He brought a bundle of corn stalks for us
to burn, and with it we kept up a fire all night, and
thus saved ourselves from chilling to death.

It was a fearful morning when at last daylight came.
Such destruction! The women were crying all about.
We pulled the tent out of the mud and succeeded in
pitching it. Our clothes were drying. I was wondering
how they had fared in Ongole ; nor had I long to wait
for tidings. A man came bringing a letter from Dr.
Boggs :

^'There is an awful state of ruin here. Though both the
bungalows, the schoolhouse and the chapel are standing, yet
there is an immense amount of destruction. All the dormi-
tories are ruined. No one was hurt, thank God! ... I
am taking it for granted that you are coming back as soon
as you can get here. We are very anxious about you and are
praying for you."

I hurried home. The roads were washed away in
many places and the bridges were gone. When at last,
tired and hungry, I reached Ongole, the sight that met
me as I came to the mission premises beggars descrip-

A CHURCH OF FIFTEEN THOUSAND MEMBERS 315

tion. The beautiful shade trees, which I planted thirteen
years before, were so thrown across the road in the
compound that I had to leave my pony and pick my
way up to the veranda. Happy and thankful we all
were, because no lives were lost. But what ruin every-
where! Some fifteen houses in the mission compound
had fallen. Tidings began to come in that upwards of
twenty schoolhouses all along the track of the cyclone
had fallen, and the houses of many of the native Chris-
tians were down. The crops were destroyed and the
question arose whether another famine was in sight.

It took much work and money to repair the damage
wrought by those few hours of cyclone. I wondered
what all this meant. I wrote to Boston that I thought
"our God means to show what he is able to do, — to
build up here among the heathen, and then how easily
he can undo all."

But that tour had to be made. I started the second
time, January 17, 1880. I was gone from Ongole just
two months. I went over five taluks which afterwards
became five separate mission fields. I could write of
this tour:

*T never had such a hearing by all classes before ; in some
places as many as one thousand came out and listened to
me attentively for an hour. I expected great things from
this tour, because I knew that many in America were pray-
ing for the Telugus. My hope was more than fulfilled."

The preachers and I had made a careful plan for
this tour. It was impossible to reach all the four hundred
villages where our Christians lived. By camping in
twenty-seven central places the people in a large num-
ber of those villages were reached. They were looking
for me. Their simple village customs were used to ad-

3l6 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

vertise my coming. The Yetties, bearing burdens from
place to place, were like a daily gazette. The village
elders kept each other informed along the route. Every-
body was wide awake. In the hamlets along the road
the people watched, and when they learned that the cart
with my tent was coming, they interviewed my tent-
pitcher and cart-men. They found out when I was ex-
pected to arrive, and all the detail.

On my way from one camp to another, I halted in
as many Christian hamlets as I could reach in a given
time. To each one I sent in advance one of my helpers,
who had directions to bring the people together and have
them ready for me in some shady place, and to invite
the caste people to come also. Frequently I went to
three or four such places before I reached my camp, when
the sun rose high, and made it unsafe for me to be out
longer. My stay everywhere had to be short, but I could
say a kind word to the people, and inquire about their
welfare. I always prayed with them and asked the Lord
Jesus to hold them steadfast in the faith. It gave them
courage and strength.

Often the Christian hamlets were off to one side. It
would have taken too much time to pick my way across
the fields to reach them. Then the people came to the
road. They waited for me for hours under some shady
tree. I halted. If pressed for time, I talked with them
from my saddle. I asked them how they were faring,
and told them to put their trust in Jesus. It meant much
to them. Following the oriental custom, I asked them
to give me permission to proceed on my journey. They
made many salaams and stood watching me as I rode on.

It seemed to me sometimes as if I were a traveler in
some desert, following a mirage, yet I was not deceived.
Christians were beckoning me everywhere. They sent
deputations of village elders begging me to come. They

A CHURCH OF FIFTEEN THOUSAND MEMBERS 317

sent letters, carefully written, inviting- me. The Chris-
tians were warm-hearted ; often they shed tears because
I could not comply with their earnest requests to come
to some outlying villag-e. My pony during those two
months of touring wore out two sets of shoes. I had
to have a double force of helpers and assistants to follow
me. Whether preachers or tent-pitchers or cart-men or
messengers, the men were worn out after a few days and
had to rest and then join me again. It was a time
of strenuous work for us all.

My heart went out to this Christian community. The
people knew that I loved them ; they felt it. It was like
sunshine to them. They had come out of great tribula-
tion. There were traces of the famine everywhere. I
could see it in their faces. The stunted bodies of the
children bore pitiful evidence. I noticed a loss in self-
reliance and a readiness to lean on anyone for sup-
port. On one point all were strong: in their faith in
Jesus. They were bravely rising from the effects of the
famine, largely through this faith. I gave my full at-
tention to the Christians, on this tour. In many places
they had difficulties to lay before me that could best
be settled on the spot. There were questions pending
concerning their relations to each other and to the caste
people. Many of these questions were of a temporal na-
ture, yet the manner in which they were answered had
its effect upon the spiritual life.

When last I made a tour of this kind, previous to
the famine, we had a membership of 3,000. Now we
had four times that number. We had a staff of two
hundred preachers and teachers. The Christian village
elders came forward everywhere, and let me feel that I
could place reliance upon them. I saw, as I went from
place to place, that the Christians were greatly in need
of more teaching and training. Yet often I had to tell

3l8 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

myself that even if they had a teacher or preacher with
them all the time, instead of seeing- one only at intervals,
they could not be more earnest in their Christian life.
The Lord Jesus was doing this. He was keeping them
firm in the faith. Frequently the only request which
deputations from villages had to make to me was for
a teacher. They wanted their children to be taught.
They wanted to rise in the social scale. Not for rupees
or temporal help did the people beg most on this tour.
The cry everywhere was : Send us a teacher.

When there was failure to lead the Christian life the
trouble lay generally in the peculiar disabilities of the
Madigas. The three precepts of the early days were still
in force. The people held each other to them. "Do not
work on Sunday; do not eat carrion; do not worship
idols.*' It was still the program of their social uprising.
Those who were weak in this were considered weak in
their Christian life. Some had let their jnttus grow, but
now asked to have them cut off. In one village five had
to be excluded for contracting infant marriages after the
heathen fashion. In several villages there were exclu-
sions for adultery. In one village eleven were excluded
because they confessed that they had deceived us when
they were baptized. It is a marvel that I did not find
many cases of this kind. An entry in my diary speaks
of going to a new camp. "On my way I halted in a ham-
let and tried to reclaim two people who had been bap-
tized. After two hours I saw that I had failed. I went
on to the camp. Five hundred or more came out, of all
castes, to listen. Many seemed to believe." I gave al-
most as much time to the two as I gave to the five hun-
dred. The people knew that I was unwilling to see one
of them stray away.

The number of baptisms everywhere was large. Many
were waiting for me. Thev would have come to Ongole

A CHURCH OF FIFTEEN THOUSAND MEMBERS 319

for the ordinance but for the distance. Moreover, it
was always the better way if they could be baptized near
their own home. It lent definiteness to the step which
they took thereby. Large numbers everywhere were on
the point of making a decision. They had been taught,
and they believed in Christ Jesus. By the united effort
of this tour the whole Madiga community of the taluks
through which I was passing was stirred. Everybody
talked about the new religion. There was strength in
numbers. The preachers were hard at work. The vil-
lage elders encouraged those in whom they had recog-
nized evidence of a change. Often my sermon marked a
turning point. There was a great turning toward Jesus
as the Saviour of men. In twenty-eight places the bap-
tism of large groups of people closed the day's work.
There were cases where it could be said that they came
by families. There were cases where members of several
households in a village came, including the elders. These
were henceforth Christian villages. One thousand and
sixty-eight persons were received into the church on pro-
fession of faith in Jesus during this tour. There was a
harvest afterwards. Before the year 1880 had passed
we had baptized 3,000.

We had a great time with the village idols on this
tour. Where families owned idols they had a right to
give them up when they became Christians. It was dif-
ferent where the idols belonged to the village. In many
places they were still standing in shrines and under trees
because a few families had held aloof from Christian
influence. The fear was that the cattle would die and
the crops would fail if the idols were removed. In some
of the villages I had asked them for years to give them
up; in some it was a recent question. Now everybody
was willing. In order to eliminate personal regrets we
made it a kind of triumphal exodus of the idols. The

320 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

village elders everywhere were prominent in this matter.
I let them fill up several bullock carts one after another,
passing from village to village, piling on their idols to
send to Ongole. Everyone heard of it. The people
caught on. They decided what had been done in one
village could be done in another. By the time I returned
to Ongole one hundred idols had preceded me. Most of
them were shapeless stones. Nearly all stood for demon
worship of some sort. Hideous rites had been performed
over many of them. The drums were given up, too, and
the bells and all the other articles that go toward idol
worship. My compound was full of the ruins of the
past worship of the people.

The munsiifs and karnams formed a prominent feature
of this tour. They came forward everywhere, as if my
visit concerned them. They came to my tent and I
showed them every courtesy, asking them to sit on my
camp chairs. Some of them listened so eagerly to my
preaching that I felt they were almost persuaded to be-
lieve in Jesus. My diary mentions them on almost every
page. In one village, after I had preached to three hun-
dred listeners in the early morning, the mimsiff walked
a mile with me back to my tent. In another village both
miinsiff and karnam came, and the latter urged me to
stay another day. Often they remained to the service,
sometimes they came with us to the baptism. I always
talked with them about the change which had come over
the Madiga community. In most places they told me that
the change was for the better. They were glad this new
religion had come to the Madigas. In a few places, how-
ever, the village officials did not hesitate to tell me that
the Christians were worse men than when they were
Madigas, because to their other evil traits they had added
insubordination.

The caste people were never before or after so friendly

A CHURCH OF FIFTEEN THOUSAND MEMBERS 32I

and approachable as during those years after the ingath-
ering. The stress of famine had brought us into close
connection. I had been able to do a good turn to many
a Sudra family over that region. They had come to me
for help and had not been turned away. Later I had
seen that all were provided with seed grain, and they
had reaped harvests from it. This friendly feeling,
mingled with gratitude, was still far from bringing them
to accept Christianity, yet I was always looking for their
coming. But they said, 'This religion has come to the
Madigas. It is a good religion. It would be well if for
us also such a religion would come.'* I remained to them
the "Madiga Dhora." As Dr. Jewett used to say,
"Brother Clough, it is hard work to convert the non-
elect." The Sudras did not come.

A new day had dawned for the Madigas, yet their old
abject position was still in evidence. In one place where
I camped, I faced a large company of angry Brahmans,
who came to my tent for redress. It had happened, when
I arrived that morning, that a large crowd of people had
come with me. As I was riding along the road the Chris-
tians from one hamlet after another had joined me. By
the time I reached the bazaar of the village, hundreds
were surrounding me and following me. The caste peo-
ple, too, had come out to see ; the place was swarming with
people. In the pressure of the crowd a Christian woman
had touched a Brahman. The caste people considered
this an intolerable state of affairs. They demanded of
me that I should give strict orders to the Madigas that
they must adhere to the customs in force since time im-
memorial. They threatened to appeal to the government.

I told those angry Brahmans that the street was for
all, and if they did not want to be touched they must
step to one side. Had I yielded to their demand, even a
little, tidings of it would have gone over the country.

322 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

The Madigas would have continued to walk in fear.
Often I mimicked them. With a stroke of the hand, my
hair fell over my face, then my shoulders drooped, and
my knees shook. The preachers at such times played
their part, they asked me, ''Who are you?" I replied,
"I am an Ongole Christian. There is a Brahman com-
ing way over there. Where can I go so that the air
which sweeps over me cannot touch him?" Such non-
sense went a long way. The people repeated it to each
other and laughed. The caste people heard of it. My
sermons were forgotten. The way I played Madiga was
remembered.

The petty persecutions which came with the social up-
rising of the people were still in force. Sometimes a
wave of them went over the country. The village offi-
cials took note of each other. What one man was doing
the next man copied. Then they waited to see what I
was going to do about it. During this tour I had to deal
with a case of persecution of more than ordinary severity.
Everyone was watching to see whether I could effect a
change. If not, intolerant officials here and there stood
ready to take similar measures to bring the Christians
back to their former condition of servitude.

The persecution happened in a large village in one of
the northern taluks. The persecutor was the munsiif, a
Sudra, In the beginning he had the caste people with
him. We had twenty-seven Christian families in the
Madiga hamlet. A seminary graduate lived here and
had pastoral charge of the surrounding villages also.
His wife was the teacher of a flourishing school in the
village. It was the prosperity of this little Christian
group that angered the caste people. The serfdom was
gone. They decided to take rigorous measures. A feast
to one of the female deities of the village was held. Ten
of the leading Christians were brought to it by force.

A CHURCH OF FIFTEEN THOUSAND MEMBERS 323

On the bank of the village pond they were told to dip
themselves under water, and thus to wash off the effects
of their Christian baptism. They refused. The mtinsiff
ordered the Yetties to put long sticks to the necks of the
Qiristians and push them under water. Then they were
taken to the idol and forced to bow before it. With the
warm blood of sheep the mark of worship was made on
their foreheads. During a long, hideous night insults
were heaped upon these ten Christians. Because they
had been unyielding they and all the rest were turned
out of the employ of the Sudras. They were not allowed
to walk on the village roads and were forbidden access to
the bazaar. This had already lasted six months. They
were in great trouble.

My tent was pitched in a grove near that village. I
invited the niunsiff and the leading Sudras to call on me.
They came, and practically the whole town came with
them; the grove was full of people. For three hours I
talked with that munsiif. I used every appeal of his re-
ligion, and of my religion, and of common humanity, in
trying to persude him to change his course. I failed. I
pointed out to him that he was violating British law. I
told him "Queen Victoria is our mother, and you are eat-
ing her pay. You are bound to treat all her subjects
alike. These Christians are of the same religion as the
Queen." It all had no effect. Night came, and I won-
dered whether I would do right in leaving the Christians
of this place to their suffering.

At sunrise, sitting in the open tent, I saw the munsiif
talking to some of the eighteen men who the day before
had asked for baptism. They were running away over
the fields, as if for dear life. I learned that the munsiif
had said to them : "The Dhora was going last night. You
kept him here. Now go away or I shall kill you." I went
out to the place where the munsiif stood. I reminded

324 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

him that the English Government metes out heavy
punishment for such deeds as his, and that the loss of
his position was possible. With a careless insolence he
replied, "If I lose it, what is that to me?" Then I ap-
pealed to God Almighty. I said, "If the English Gov-
ernment does not make you as if you had not been, God
will wipe you out, unless you cease to persecute these peo-
ple. He will reckon with you before many months!"

I stayed that day, for I wanted to find some way of
helping those persecuted Christians. I requested the
munsiff to come with me to the well in the Christian
hamlet, into which he had thrown logs of Tuma trees,
because with their strong odor they made the water un-
drinkable. I insisted that he must order his Yetties to
take out these logs. I stood by while they did it. Then
I looked for evidence, in order to help the Christians file
a case in the magistrate's court. I went to the pond
where the mock baptism had been performed. I took
down all names. I did not see clearly whether there was
a legal point there to take hold of and carry. I told the
Christians to stand firm, and to tell the Lord Jesus their
troubles, and to trust him, for in some way he would
overrule events to bring them deliverance.

When I was gone the Sudras remonstrated with the
munsiif, and said, "What use is it to worry these Chris-
tians?" He replied, "Though it cost me a cartload of
rupees, I shall not rest until there is not a Christian left
in this village." I tried to help them through legal pro-
ceedings, but failed. Two months passed, and at a large
meeting in our Ongole chapel some of those persecuted
ones were present. They told of their troubles with
tears. It seemed as if they could not endure more. Their
children were crying for want of food. We took a col-
lection for them. The preachers suggested that a cart be
sent to Christian villages, and grain be collected for those

A CHURCH OF FIFTEEN THOUSAND MEMBERS 325

sufferers, here a measure and there a measure. This was
done. All felt that God must send help in some form;
for if that mimsiff could thus drive a village of Chris-
tians to the verge of starvation, and no one could stay his
hand, what had they to expect where many village offi-
cials were hostile to the Christians? There was much
prayer and much anxiety, and the story of this persecu-
tion was being told all over the field.

Meanwhile the mimsiff was suffering more than the
Christians. A carbuncle had appeared on his shoulder.
It defied the skill of native physicians. Three months
after the morning when I warned him of the wrath of
God Almighty he died. On that day the funeral pyre was
raised for him, the Yetties applied the torch, and stood at
a distance while fire consumed his mortal remains.

The tidings went over the country that the persecutor
was dead. Yetties told the story wherever they went.
The Christians lifted up their heads and said, "Our God
is a God who hears our cries." The caste people talked
of it to each other and wondered. The village officials
here and there decided that perhaps, after all, it might
be well to treat the Christians kindly. All felt that the
God of the Christians had spoken. The effect was pro-
nounced and lasting.

My tour convinced me that I had no cause to fear for
that movement. I had gone over much of the ground
and had found warm hearts and strong faith. All were
at work. The village elders were in their places. The
schools were doing good work. The preachers were full
of zeal. Persecution had been borne. The weight of it
had rested on us all. Not a voice was raised in favor of
compromise. Standing for Jesus Christ and the new life
was worth all it cost.

XIX

AN EASTERN PEOPLE AND WESTERN ORGANIZATION

A MONTH after I returned from my extended tour over
the field I wrote a decisive letter to the Executive Com-
mittee, in which I proposed the division of the Ongole
field. During the tour, and in thinking it over afterwards,
I had become deeply impressed with the overwhelming
call for work which ought to be done everywhere. We
had labored strenuously during the two months of tour-
ing, yet had passed through only five of the nine or ten
taluks over which the movement had spread. Later in
the year Dr. and Mrs. Boggs made a tour of one month.
They found warm hearts and open minds everywhere.
Nearly 600 were baptized during their tour.

The size of the Ongole field was unwieldy. It ex-
tended ninety miles north and south, and one hundred
miles east and west. There were probably two million
people in this area, living in two thousand towns and vil-
lages, more or less. The movement had had a wide
sweep. The Ongole methods had had a chance to work
themselves out. Most of our Christians knew little of
other missionary societies or other methods. Beyond the
confines of the Ongole field missionaries of two societies
from England and one society from America were at
work. In several places their boundaries and ours over-
lapped. Their converts were not from the Madigas.

I realized, in deciding this question, that the day of

326

EASTERN PEOPLE AND WESTERN ORGANIZATION 327

pioneers was now over. We men of the early years
could find ourselves so buried in heathenism that we had
to look for our nearest missionary neighbor fifty or one
hundred miles away. A different day had come. New
societies were being founded. The old societies were
sending strong reenforcements. New ideas were gaining
ground about the amount of careful labor which should
extend from the mission stations over the surrounding
country. The South India Missionary Conference had
discussed this question. A consensus of opinion had been
reached that no mission field should extend further than
thirty miles from its headquarters. I could see the jus-
tice in this trend of opinion in mission affairs, and was
ready to adapt myself to it.

Since the time of the ingathering I had often realized
that there was an element of instability in the Ongole
movement so long as a large part of the responsibility
lay on the shoulders of one man. If an accident were
to happen to me, or my health were to break down, who
would be willing to take my place? I had to tell myself
that willingness and capacity were not the only requisites
in this case. The movement and I were as one organism.
I sought counsel with my fellow-missionaries. All were
convinced that I must divide the field, and do it soon,
letting the division take a normal course and thus pre-
vent disaster.

My proposition to the Executive Committee therefore
was that several of the outlying taluks were to be made
independent mission fields without delay. The mission-
ary in each case was to erect a bungalow in the taluk
town and thus be within easy access of the thousands of
Christians in the taluk. Dr. Boggs, who had been asso-
ciated with me at Ongole for over a year, was willing to
take charge of the Cumbum and Markapur taluks, which
from the first had formed an important center of the

328 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

movement. We requested that other men be sent. Of
the nine or ten taluks included in the Ongole field four
or five of those farthest from Ongole were to be estab-
lished as separate fields as soon as practicable.

These plans were good, but for the time being they
came to naught. The reason was that I had moved
away from the beaten track with my methods. The
report was spreading that a man who came to Ongole
must work by Ongole methods. Men at that time were
not always willing to do this. Those methods had
not then stood the test of experience. They seemed to
many due to my personality, and my manner of working.
I could not adequately explain the situation to anyone.
There were times when I took the shortest line between
two given points, and knew my reasons for doing it.
But how to make them clear to the next man was another
question. Some of my methods were not of my making ;
circumstances had forced them upon me. To some I
had adapted myself willingly; they went along the line
of least resistance and were sensible. About others I
had doubts. They stood for a course which I had found
the best possible under prevailing conditions. I had
always sought guidance from Jesus, and believed that he
was in these methods.

I did everything in my power to help the men who
came after me. I took them touring with me. I an-
swered their questions. I explained to them conditions
which are difficult to grasp except after years of experi-
ence in the country. I had myself gone through a severe
apprenticeship when I began work in Ongole. Thrown
upon my own resources, I had learned to look to God for
guidance and to go ahead. No doubt pioneer habits
were strong upon me. We men of the old days had our
own way of working. It became a question with the
younger men who clustered about us whether they would

EASTERN PEOPLE AND WESTERN ORGANIZATION 329

walk in the track we had hewn. That movement among
the Madigas had given me a training which I could share
with no other man, no matter how willing I might be to
do so. Moreover, I had a place in the hearts of those
Madigas which I could neither give nor bequeath to any-
one else. No matter how loyal they might learn to be to
the next man, they never ceased to speak of me as the
''pedda Dhora" — the big or elder Dhora — with a peculiar
affection. It was not in my power to alter this state of
affairs. My successors had to make the best of it.

In later years, fellow-missionaries have told me they
wished I had taken them more into my confidence in the
early days and explained to them more fully how I was
trying to let the Madigas remain in their own groove,
while they were slowly growing into the forms of a re-
ligion that had been brought to them from the West. I
was not aware of having withheld anything from them.
I did not see it plainly myself in the early days. When
we are in the midst of anything we can seldom formulate
all our reasons for a given course of action. It is in
after years that we see our motives clearly. But if I had
told my successors to how great an extent several of the
leaders among our preachers were responsible for the
Ongole methods, it would have filled their minds with
doubt about those methods at the outset. Moreover, they
would have raised a contention with me regarding the
organization of churches. They would have told me
that the gospel was adapted out and out to all races and
climes, and that as the organized, self-sustaining Chris-
tian church was part of the gospel, it also was adapted
to all places without distinction. Afterwards, in looking
back, they saw it more clearly, and so did I; for the
trend of the times had come to help us.

The tendency of that whole situation at Ongole was
always in the direction of leaving the burden of work

330 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

and responsibility on me. Year after year I carried a
heavy load. At this juncture, in 1880, the result was
that the division of the field was postponed. The growth
did not cease, neither in numbers nor in active Christian
life. I looked to the Lord Jesus to help me, and he did
not fail me.

The year 1880 was a decisive year in our history at
Ongole. Projects which had been maturing for years
now came to completion. One of these was a high school
for our Christian community. It could no longer be
said that the Madigas of that region were an illiterate
people. The number of our village schools scattered
over the field had recently grown to nearly 150, with
more than 2,000 pupils. Some of these schools were
very elementary, taught under a tree by a teacher who
could barely read and write. Others had reached a fair
degree of efficiency, and were taught by recent seminary
graduates. We had our large station schools at Ongole,
with 300 pupils. Our best men and women were sent
to our theological seminary. But that whole educational
scheme was unfinished without a high school. After
much correspondence with the home board, funds suf-
ficient were at our disposal. We made a beginning in
May, 1880, with one hundred students, of whom twenty-
seven were Christian lads.

All our schools were under the supervision of the edu-
cational department of the government in Madras. A
substantial grant-in-aid was secured. Our high school
was also to come under this system. It was to be open
to Christians, Hindus and Mohammedans alike. From
the beginning we had Christian teachers on the staff, and
the Bible was taught to all an hour each day. An in-
creasing number of Brahman boys came. They knew
when they entered that they would sit on the same
benches with our Christian boys, and raised no objec-

EASTERN PEOPLE AND WESTERN ORGANIZATION 33 1

tions. But they considered the highest class their own.
When now a Christian was ready to enter it they rose in
protest. They left the school in a body, and took nearly
all the non-Christian boys with them. It soon became
apparent to them that this made no difference to anyone.
The school continued without them. They came back.
This meant a long stride in proving that the day of
Pariah degradation was over. Education formed a
bridge that connected Brahman and Pariah. Rev. W. R.
Manley became principal of the school, and tided it over
the difficulties of its first seven years. Those who had
doubted whether the Madigas had the capacity to receive
an education were forced to admit that it was within
their power.

I had opposition to face in opening this high school,
both in America and in India. Some said it was prema-
ture, because we had not a sufficient number of boys in
our Telugu Mission ready to enter and thus justify the es-
tablishment of such a school. This objection was over-
come after a few years. Then there was always the con-
tention that it was not a legitimate use of mission money
to educate orientals, who afterwards were sometimes
known to use their education in a way hostile to Chris-
tianity. I always felt that this was a minor consideration.
I was not at any time influenced by discussions on this
subject. I could see only one side to the whole question.
Unmoved by any opposition, whether from Hindus or
from the men of my own race, I forged ahead. I was
bound to see an educated Christian community in my day.
To some extent I succeeded in this.

There was another important direction in which I
made a move in 1880, and by force of contrast it is the
more remarkable that in this I had no opposition to face.
Everyone looked upon it as the right move. We now
took the first step toward the organization of separate

332 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

churches. The ground was unbroken in this respect.

The Baptist church at Ongole, organized with eight
members January i, 1867, was the church into which
we had received more than 15,000 members. There
were no other churches on the Ongole field. We had
seven ordained native preachers. In a natural way it
had come to pass, in the course of the years, that Chris-
tian centers of development were formed here and there
on the field. We now had more than thirty of these. In
each one of them there was a man who practically per-
formed the functions of a pastor. The men had grown
with the centers. Together they had formed the con-
tinuity of the movement. The only course now open to
us was to organize these centers into churches, and to
ordain the leading men in them as Christian ministers.

These were the men who had stood together as a
group of leaders from the beginning of the movement.
Humble men in their walks in life, God had honored
them. In the social uprising of their people in the months
of famine, and in the days of the ingathering, these men
had stood shoulder to shoulder with me. They had looked
forward to their ordination. Our Christians took a deep
interest in the events that were now to take place. They
wanted nothing changed in the relations sustained be-
tween themselves and their preachers. But if it was in
accordance with the rules of the Christian religion that
they should pass through an examination, and, if found
worthy, receive the Christian ordination, they felt that
it was all as it should be. They tried to learn what it
meant, and to harmonize it with ideas of religious prac-
tices familiar and congenial to them in their Indian life.

In response to a call from the Ongole Church a council
convened at Ongole April 14-16, 1880, to consider the
propriety of formally setting apart to the work of the
gospel ministry those native preachers whose labors had

EASTERN PEOPLE AND WESTERN ORGANIZATION ;^;^^

already been crowned with so much success. Dr. Downie
came from Nellore and Dr. WiUiams from Ramapatnam
with delegates from both stations. The council was or-
ganized ; the examination was close and deliberate and
occupied two days and a half. Dr. Boggs reported about
this examination :

"It embraced as usual the important points of conver-
sion, and call to the ministry, and an outline of Christian
doctrine; many testing questions were asked both by the
missionaries and native delegates and the answers were
generally very satisfactory. Their knowledge of the Chris-
tian system seemed surprising, especially after hearing each
one of them, in relating his experience, speak of the time,
only a few years back, when they were worshiping idols.
The result was that twenty-four of the best, most experi-
enced, and successful preachers connected with the Ongole
Mission were considered worthy of the confidence implied
in this act of public recognition."

Dr. Downie preached the ordination sermon, and Dr.
Williams delivered an earnest charge both to the church
and the candidates. Then the twenty-four all knelt, and
the hands of the leading ministers were laid on them
while the ordaining prayer was offered by Rev. N. Kana-
kiah of Nellore. The benediction was pronounced by
Yerraguntla Periah, the oldest man among those just
ordained, and the firstfruits of them all.

It was an unusual occasion. Not often in the history
of modern missions have twenty-four men been ordained
to the ministry at the same time. Theological schools of
learning had had little to do with the making of most of
these men. Only a few of the twenty-four were gradu-
ates of the Ramapatnam Seminary. The rest had been
taught by me during the six weeks of the preachers' in-
stitute, held every hot season during the early years in

334 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

Ongole. And on me also theological schools had not had
an opportunity to leave their mark. Thus we all were off
the beaten track of ecclesiastical proceedings. We had
worked together and the Lord Jesus had blessed our
labors. Their ordination was not the door to their min-
istry. It was the other way. Their ministry demanded
recognition through ordination.

The first step had been taken. Six months later we
were facing the next step. Letters had been coming to
me from the larger groups of members here and there
over the field, who wished to form separate churches with
their own pastors. The Ramapatnam Seminary had
done its work in preparing the way for this. Dr. Wil-
liams had realized what was needed, and had worked to
meet the need. He and his assistant teachers had drilled
successive classes of students on the subject of the New
Testament church and its ordinances. What was taught
in the seminary found its way into receptive minds all
over the field. They wanted their own churches. They
wrote to me and signed long lists of names to their let-
ters. A package of them is still among my papers.

One of our large quarterly meetings came, just six
months after the ordination of the twenty-four. On Sun-
day, October lo, 1880, I preached from Psalm 48:14 —
'This God is our God forever and ever; he will be our
guide unto death." Dr. Boggs was then still associated
with me at Ongole, and Mr. Manley also assisted. We
went through all the hard work which these quarterly
meetings always brought. Then, October 13, we gave
our whole attention to a lengthy inquiry concerning the
setting off of twenty-six churches.

There were present at that deliberation in the chapel
the representative members of the Ongole Church from
all portions of its field. We had on the table before us
the applications of the various groups of members, re-

EASTERN PEOPLE AND WESTERN ORGANIZATION 335

questing dismissal from the parent church in order to
form independent churches. The Ongole Church, repre-
sented by its leading members, was ready to vote on this
subject. It is true the Ongole Church now numbered
14,872, and there was no way of obtaining the vote of
even one tenth of the membership. But we had their
leaders there with us in the chapel. There were thirty-
three ordained preachers and thirty unordained. There
were nearly one hundred and fifty village school teachers ;
there were several hundred deacons, and there were other
members who had come from here and there. No one
could say that we missionaries had done this work with-
out the cooperation of the native church. We tried to
adhere strictly to New Testament methods.

It was only a partial solution of the question of or-
ganization. We dismissed only 2,000 members out of
our total of nearly 15,000 — less than one-seventh.
But it was a beginning. We now taught them Bap-
tist church autonomy. They could receive members
by baptism, they could exercise church discipline. They
bought a plate and a cup in the bazaar for their com-
munion service; they bought a bell to call their mem-
bers together. We gave to each a book with the names
of their members recorded. It was a very rudimen-
tary attempt at church organization. Those special con-
ceptions of the church which belong to our own race
did not appeal to them because they knew nothing of their
history. They lacked the range of ideas that would have
helped to give an intelligent hold upon those distinctly
Christian conceptions. Much of the most valuable acqui-
sition of Christian thought was inaccessible to them.

The people understood that they must support their
preacher and their teacher. There would have been a
great deal of willingness among them to do this if it had
not been for their poverty. Recently emerged from a

33^ SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

fearful famine, they had little themselves. Many a fam-
ily among the Christians had barely enough to go around
for one meal a day. To help feed the preacher and
teacher from this meant stinting themselves till it hurt.

Those preachers, capable and faithful though they were
in their appointed places, were unwilling to cut loose
from their organic connection with headquarters. They
felt they could not stand alone without the advice, the
help and the backing which the missionary could give
them. The impetus of the movement was still on us.
We could not split ourselves into separate units. The
cohesion of the movement was organic, the ideal of the
Western church was in this case artificial.

Thus, while those ordained preachers had their homes
in the villages where the new churches had been or-
ganized, they still remained responsible for the groups
of villages which constituted their little field. This ne-
cessitated frequent absence from their homes, while in a
number of cases their wives kept up the services on Sun-
day and taught school during the week. For their pas-
toral work they received pay, generally in kind, from
their members. For their evangelistic work they still
considered themselves under my direction, and depended
on the mission for their quarterly allowance. To many
of them the actual purchasing value of the few rupees
put into their hands was of slight importance as
compared to the prestige it gave them to be still con-
nected with our Ongole Mission. They could not forego
the stimulating effect of the quarterly meeting at Ongole,
which was calculated in those days to wind up everyone
for renewed effort for another three months.

The quarterly meetings of those days played a great
part in the movement. They had grown to these large
proportions from a small beginning. Away back in the
early days Yerraguntla Periah and I agreed that it would

EASTERN PEOPLE AND WESTERN ORGANIZATION 337

be well for him to come to Ongole every month if pos-
sible for the communion service, and to confer with me
about the work. As the band of workers grew they, too,
came. Converts came with them for baptism. My con-
nection with the staff of workers was kept active and
dominant by these monthly meetings. As the size of the
field increased, the monthly meetings grew unwieldy. The
workers had to walk long distances back and forth. We
were scarcely through the work of one meeting when
another was at hand. Even before the famine we had to
make it a bimonthly gathering, and then it became quar-
terly.

In those days, while we were yet all together, and di-
visions were only being planned, these meetings were
occasions to which we all looked forward. Preachers,
teachers, both men and women, helpers, and many of
the more prominent members came flocking into Ongole
in groups from every portion of the more than 7,000
square miles of the field. The compound began to fill
on Saturday afternoon. They stood together, dusty and
footsore from walking seventy miles in some cases, and
exchanged greetings. To the recognized staff among
them I had to extend the hospitality of the compound;
for I had asked them to come that we might jointly trans-
act the business of the mission. Our first meeting always
occurred on a Saturday, toward evening. The list was
read and each received an allowance of a small silver coin
per day, the equivalent of about five cents. Each family
was given an earthen pot from a big pile of pots stacked
ready near by. In the cold season we gave mats to lie
on. As night fell there were little campfires all over the
compound, and groups around them waiting for the rice
and curry that was under preparation, and there was
much talking and relating experiences of the past months.

On Sunday morning it was my custom to preach

338 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

a carefully prepared sermon to the 700 people or
more who filled the chapel to overflowing. I knew
that all the workers were waiting for points which they
could take and tell over the field during the following
months. My quarterly meeting sermon filled a need, and
unless it was an hour or more in length my men were not
satisfied. Then came communion service. After a few
hours of rest we examined the several hundred candi-
dates who usually were brought from the field for bap-
tism. We closed the day under the tamarind tree in our
garden by the baptistery, where each preacher baptized
those who came from his field.

The following days of the quarterly meeting were full
of hard work. There were payments to make. Twice a
year we gave to each worker on our list a suit of clothes,
because I found that it was well to conform to the native
custom of payment in kind and not in money. Besides,
the white suit, which cost less than one dollar, was the
same for all and thus constituted a kind of uniform,
which I found had its uses. We gave them tracts to
distribute on the field, and medicines for their house-
holds, since they were far from medical aid away off in
the jungle. Above all, we gave them counsel and en-
couragement, and words of commendation where in
place. The preachers made known to me any difliculties
on their fields. School matters were adjusted with the
teachers. Cases of distress were given a hearing, and
relieved if possible.

I gave myself wholly to the people during those days.
When all were satisfied, and I had prayed with them and
committed us all to the Lord Jesus and his care and
guidance, I sent them on their way home. And then I
was a tired man. "Invincibles," as I called them — people
with unreasonable requests — generally stayed behind to
see what they could get from me. But I withdrew into

EASTERN PEOPLE AND WESTERN ORGANIZATION 339

my room, closed the doors, and rested under the punkah.
Some one among the preachers, even at ordinary times,
was always at hand to keep those in check who could
never be satisfied. They used to say to such: "Our
Dhora now has given all his strength to the people. If
you kill him what good can that do you ? Go home and
tell your troubles to God only ; for our Dhora is bent over
with the load which the people have laid upon him." It
generally took me several days to rebound after one of
these quarterly meetings.

I loved the people and let them feel it. There was no
ecclesiastical dignity about me. Warmth was what they
wanted. I went about among them and slapped one man
a little on the shoulder, another I shook a little, with the
next I had a bit of pleasantry, next I mimicked some one,
around my most trusted men I put my arm and asked
them what they had been doing. It made them happy. I
learned this through Yerraguntla Periah in the early
days. He had come in as usual, but went about with a
sad, downcast face. Mrs. Clough finally asked him
whether anything was troubling him. He replied, *'I
fear our Dhora does not love me any more. Since I came
several days ago he has not once slapped my shoulder, or
shaken me, or put his arm around me, or made fun with
me. I am very sad." Of course Mrs. Clough lost no
time in telling me about this, and I made up to him for
all my neglect. It was an eye-opener to me, and showed
me that they prized above everything else the little indi-
cations that I was getting near to them, as man to man.

It seems these traits of personality were part of my
equipment for the work. I may not always have been
wise in giving free play to my sense of humor, but the
people loved me for it, because it brought me near to
them. I often did a bit of acting and could imitate their
voices and their ways of doing things. They thought

340 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

it great. If something they had done, or were doing,
made me angry, and I scathed them with sharp reproof,
it was an item of interest on the field. By the degree of
my anger the people gauged the serious nature of the
offense, and all took notice.

My physical endurance during those years held out
notwithstanding climate and work. I could stand on my
veranda all morning and take up the case of one deputa-
tion after another from villages far and near. They sat
under the trees in front of my veranda sometimes sev-
eral days before their turn came, and did it patiently;
for nothing would satisfy them unless they had a hearing
from me personally. I was always surrounded by a
band of men and women who did preliminary work wnth
the people, and told me in a few simple words what was
wanted, making long inquiries unnecessary. Generally
the requests were legitimate; it concerned their preacher
or their school, or there was a persecution, or the Chris-
tians in the village were quarreling, or there was a griev-
ous case of poverty, sickness or death.

Sometimes I rebelled ; I told the people they were heap-
ing their burdens upon me unjustly. If their Sudra
masters scolded them, if they had a little pain in their
limbs — I used to tell them — they rose up and said, *'Let
us go to Ongole and tell our Clough Dhora." For such I
had little welcome. On the other hand, I made it a rule
never to let anyone feel that he had nothing more to do
with me. No matter how I had rebuked a man, or how
sharply I had protested against his doings, I always found
a bridge between that man and myself, even if it was
only a bit of humor and nonsense. Thus I held the
Christians together, and kept in touch with the adherents
and caste people.

The friends of the Ongole Mission, especially those in
America, often feared that since there were no organized

EASTERN PEOPLE AND WESTERN ORGANIZATION 34 1

churches on our field, the movement was lacking in en-
during qualities. There was no cause for fear. It was
not a movement without organization. The men who
were closest to the people were our deacons, the village
elders of former days, then came the teachers, men and
women, the Bible women and preachers, and finally I
was always there, accessible to the highest and to the
lowest. Moreover, according to the New Testament
conception of the church, the whole field was dotted with
churches; for there were groups of believers everywhere,
who were "steadfast in their faith in Jesus," and to
whom ''the Lord added such as should be saved." The
spiritual life on the field was not essentially afifected, or
increased in vigor, by that mass ordination and the set-
ting apart of twenty-six churches. It merely brought the
Christians more into conformity with the church of
Christ and its ordinances.

I used to talk sometimes of ''paper churches." To
have it all down on paper, ready for statistical tables : so
many members, deacons, baptisms, contributions — all this
does not constitute a church. On the other hand, a
group of believers, full of love for the Lord Jesus and
good works in their own oriental way, seemed to me in
many cases all we could expect in the way of a church for
the time being.

This attempt at organization would have been far more
effective if it had been made before the famine and in-
gathering came upon us. If that theological seminary
had been given to us when I first began to plead for it,
soon after we settled in Ongole, those valuable ten years
would not have been lost, so far as church organization
was concerned. But it is possible that this was not in
the divine plan.

It may have been well that, with Mrs. Clough to help
me, I had to train the preachers myself, who formed my

342 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

corps of workers during famine and ingathering. May-
be that was what God wanted. There was a complete
understanding between them and me. I knew what to
expect of each. They knew me, and knew to what ex-
tent I would stand by them through thick and thin. I
must say there was no lack of loyalty on their part.
There were times when they showed by their actions that
they were willing to pluck out their eyes and give them to
me. They showed their devotion in all sorts of ways. If
I had rivers to ford they took me on their shoulders and
put me on my feet on the other side entirely dry. If I
was hungry out on tour they declined to eat until they
knew that I had had my portion. Often they put them-
selves between me and angry people and refused to leave
until they knew I was safe. This mutual loyalty formed
the esprit de corps of the movement. We were able thus
to hold together and work as one man when the strain
and stress of a great emergency came upon us.

Perhaps, too, it simplified matters when the ingather-
ing came that we could baptize the ten thousand converts
into the Ongole Church. If at that time there had been
a number of self-sustaining churches over my field, I
doubt whether I could have handled the situation. The
firm grip which the preachers and I had on it would have
weakened ; there would have been a splitting up of inter-
ests. Perhaps, from that point of view, it was necessary
that the organizing of churches should suffer in order
that the movement might prosper.

One drawback was that the preachers had before them
no pattern of a self-governing, self-supporting church.
They watched me narrowly in all my dealings in the
Ongole Baptist Church as its pastor, and they copied me.
But I also had the supervision of the whole field. It was
not possible always to keep the two offices distinct. The

EASTERN PEOPLE AND WESTERN ORGANIZATION 343

ideas of the preachers about the functions of a pastor
must thereby have become confused at some points.

In my whole attempt to organize Baptist churches
among the Madigas the feature which I can pronounce an
unquahfied success was the village elder turned into a
Baptist deacon. Whenever in a Madiga village one or
more of the headmen were converted I considered the
battle half won. I only needed to utilize their position
in the community, and bring it into service for the Lord
Jesus and keep it there, and I had their customs, handed
down from time immemorial, to help us. I always leaned
on these headmen, and held as closely to their own ideas
as I could consistently. To force a lot of Western ideas
upon such a converted village elder was not to my mind
good policy. I let him stay in his groove, and let him
learn in his own way how to lead a Christian Hfe and
help others to do the same.

The next step was that all the five headmen of a
Madiga village were converted, and thus the village
council which they formed — the panchayat — ^became
Christianized as a matter of course. There I saw my
opportunity ; for along this line I could introduce church
organization according to strictly Indian customs and
ideas. I wanted to become a lawyer and politician in my
early life. It must be that with my latent capacity in
that direction I promptly seized upon the crude legal
aspects of the Madiga village, and created out of them
new conditions, giving the people the Christian ethical
code, and teaching them to love and serve the Lord
Jesus.

The duties of the village panchayat were easily ad-
justed to the new Christian communal life. Those five
village elders, in the old days, had to see to the upkeep
of the village worship; they could levy fines for light of-
fenses; it was in their power to expel a man from the

344 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

community for a grave offense. A stranger coming to
the village went to the headmen, and in cases of distress
they had to find means of relief. Often the panchayat
was as depraved as the men who composed it; yet here
was a system of self-government that only needed to be
utilized for Christian propaganda. I was not slow to do
this.

All through the years I had had my eye on the compe-
tent village elders. 1 put them to work and called them
my "helpers" and let them know that I leaned on them.
They formed a large unpaid staff of mission workers, an
organic part of the whole, working hand in hand with
the preachers and forming the solid foundation of the
structure. And now, after the ingathering, these men
began to come to the front. They wanted recognition.
If the preachers were to be ordained, the centers of
Christian activity to be organized as churches, then where
were they to come in? Under the old order they had
been content and asked for nothing. Under the new
order they wanted their names put down on some list,
to show they had not been left out.

My diary contains the first mention of those six months
after the ingathering. By the end of 1879 there were
thirty on the list, by the end of 1880 the number had
grown to two hundred and thirty. At the quarterly meet-
ing in October, 1880, this movement of deacons came
upon us in a way to perplex us. I knew that a large
number of them had come to Ongole. I agreed to meet
them and hear their requests and deliberate with them
after the work of setting apart the twenty-six churches
had been accomplished. When the time came Dr. Boggs
and I were overwhelmed by the number and the persis-
tency of the applicants. I knew many of them per-
sonally. I had been in their villages, and knew that, for
Madigas, they were men of means. If, then, the small

EASTERN PEOPLE AND WESTERN ORGANIZATION 345

allowance for which they asked did not form a motive,
what actuated them?

I called a council of the oldest and most reliable preach-
ers and asked them the meaning of this movement of
village elders. They made themselves spokesmen for the
elders, and told me they had encouraged them to come;
for they feared that under the new order of things they
might become discouraged and cease to be the pillars of
support which they had been in the past. I asked what
would be done if I withheld the allowance which these
men wanted. The preachers replied without hesitation
that it would make no difference. They reminded me,
however, that if the elders received half a rupee — fifteen
cents — way allowance, when coming to the quarterly
meeting, and the same when they returned home, that
all the village people would see thereby that their going
to Ongole was not idle pastime, but that they were really
needed there as representatives of the Christian villages.
They also pointed out to me that if they were given a
cloth twice a year costing very little, with the rest of the
staff of workers, it would be in accordance with the cus-
tom of the country. The Sudra master, when he wants
the Madiga to know that he is his man, gives him a cloth.
If the elders were thus recognized by the mission it
would be evidence to everyone that they were acceptable
servants to the mission, and their word would be re-
spected. I knew that the preachers were right about this.

This movement of the village elders was very signifi-
cant. They had been a contented, capable force of work-
ers during all the years. Only the most prominent among
them were now asking recognition. There were hun-
dreds of them on the field. No one had questioned their
position and it was without pay. Now this was all upset
by our attempt to introduce church organization, which,
though not far-reaching, was yet a blow at the old order

34^ SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

of things. A sort of rebellion broke out among them.
If their old rights were to suffer interference, they
wanted new rights. The preachers feared the disorgani-
zation of all their work if these rights were not granted.
I now understood the situation, and tried to meet the
emergency. It was another instance of how the move-
ment among the Madigas forced methods upon me
which I could not easily explain to those who came after
me. For some years thereafter we had a long list of
^'helpers." They were the really self-supporting force of
the mission. It was only after the mission became more
and more organized that their services were no longer
considered essential. Their names were then gradually
taken off the list of workers.

I have been asked to state at the close of this chapter
what I now think of that whole attempt at church or-
ganization. It is possible for me to say in the retrospect
what I would not have cared to say thirty years ago. At
that time the whole trend of opinion in the Christian
world would have been against me. But now I say with-
out hesitation: The Western forms of Christianity are
not necessarily adapted to an Eastern community. There
were years when I tried to lead the people toward West-
ern organization ; for I wanted them to grow into it. I
even tried, since pressure was being brought to bear upon
me from outside, to force it upon them. I was only par-
tially successful. In so far as I could make use of the
primitive self -administration of the Indian village com-
munity, in so far did I succeed.

I am glad, as I look back, that my efforts were mostly
in the direction of preaching Jesus in a way which ap-
pealed to the oriental mind, and that I gave to church or-
ganization, according to Western ideas, a secondary place.
It seems to me I was in line with the New Testament
church, and that God was guiding and helping me.

XX

SELF-SUPPORT IN PRACTICE

I WAS waiting for reenforcement from America. Six
months after the ingathering- Dr. Boggs had come out to
help me. He had been associated with me for two years,
and had borne with me the heavy cares of those years.
Then he was called to the theological seminary at Rama-
patnam during the temporary absence of Dr. Williams.
The claim of the 200 students in that institution was
recognized by us all. It was taken for granted that
I could somehow hold the fort alone.

I had been asked repeatedly to write a book about the
Telugu revival. The people at home wanted something
that would bring them into close touch with this move-
ment. They had had nothing but missionary reports thus
far. I saw that a story from real life was wanted. The
only time which I could spare for such work was the hot
season, when the heat kept everyone at home. Accord-
ingly, when, in the summer of 1881, the hot winds began
to blow, my time for writing had come. The bungalow
was cooled by mats of fragrant roots, kept moist all day
by a coolie who continuously poured water over them.
The punkahs were swinging overhead. The hero and
heroine and other leading characters in the story were
now at Ongole, always within call, ready to tell me not
only their own experiences, but also the customs and cere-
monies pertaining to life in the Indian village.

347

348 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

I wrote many hours each day. My book was finished
in six weeks. I gave it the title **From Darkness to
Light." The sale was said to be remarkable for a mis-
sionary book. I enjoyed this work. When it was done
I felt tempted to go on using my pen and spin out another
story. But scarcely was my conclusion written when a
quarterly meeting came upon me. After that was over
my diary for the first time records symptoms of over-
work: "Tired out, nerves unstrung, and feel so weak
that I can hardly walk and cannot eat."

Again several months passed by in waiting. My diary
has entries about urgent appeals sent home for reenforce-
ment. Now and then there is a hint of deep discourage-
ment, because there was no one in sight to relieve me.
This could not go on indefinitely. Since my last return
from furlough, early in 1874, I had been at my post
without a break except the three months when I took my
family as far as England on their way home. The let-
ters from Mrs. Clough and the children were full of
disappointment over the prolonged absence. At last, in
October, 1881, we heard that two new men were to sail
in a few days, and four were to follow soon after. Two
of our older missionaries were returning from furlough.
Of these eight men, four were to take portions of the On-
gole field. The other three were to fill vacancies in other
stations of the mission. We all took courage.

The new men came, and began their work by learning
the Telugu language. I took them out on tour with me,
and let them see the field, and become acquainted with
my methods. The Ongole field had covered ten taluks.
The four that were farthest from Ongole were now to
be made separate mission stations. They were Cumbum,
Bapatla, Vinukonda and Narsaravupet. The Ongole
church voted to give letters of dismissal to the members
living in those four taluks. We could not give a letter

SELF-SUPPORT IN PRACTICE 349

to each of the 8,000 members whom we thus dismissed.
We dealt with large groups. The parent church had
14,000 members left. All the workers belonging to
each taluk went with their new missionaries. Some of
the strongest of our preachers were working at the
outposts. I did not like to let them go, but, on the other
hand, I was glad they were there to help carry forward
the work under changed conditions.

I now felt that since the most necessary provision had
been made I could leave my work for a time. I sailed
for America toward the end of 1883. During this fur-
lough at home I traveled much, and told the story of the
Telugu revival in many churches to large audiences. I
collected money for mission property, and turned the at-
tention of many people in the direction of our Telugu
Mission. My furlough was cut short somewhat by the
serious illness and death of the missionary and his wife
whom I had left in charge at Ongole, caring for the work
there. My presence was required. I returned to India in
the fall of 1884.

The men who had taken portions of the old Ongole
field and made them independent stations had found their
bearings and had looked over their resources. One of
them reported : *'The great revival is still going on. We
have no trouble in getting converts ; the only trouble is to
train them." Another wrote : 'T have no fear about the
future ingathering of converts. That work has gained
such an impetus that it will go on independently of the
missionary. The urgent, pressing need is for more pas-
toral care, more biblical instruction, and more Christian
primary education for the children."

Those who had pushed their outposts toward the north
encountered ''the Ongole wave" of revival in parts of the
Telugu country remote from Ongole. A missionary who
settled in a hard, new field south of us reported that for

350 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

forty miles in three directions from his station not a
Christian was to be found anywhere. In the fourth di-
rection, as he approached the confines of the Ongole field,
there were whole villages of Christians. So far as the
movement toward Christianity was concerned it was
going ahead; there was no sign of any decrease in its
inherent force. But the training of the converts, which
was already so serious a question, was rendered still more
serious by the lack of means with which to forge ahead.

It was during those years that great prominence began
to be given to the question of self-support in foreign
missions. Most of the missionary societies were facing
serious deficits at the close of every financial year. The
demands of the mission fields were increasing. Students
of missions who were in close touch with the problems of
the situation pointed to the necessity of making the native
churches self-sustaining, and thought they had herein
found the solution of the whole difficulty. The attempts
of the missionary boards to bring this about by stringent
measures fell as a deadweight upon their missionaries.

We men out on the foreign field had taken our own
course of development, and the results were now being
scrutinized. We had cultivated new ground. As a mat-
ter of course, we could not carry the religion of Jesus
Christ to non-Christian races, unaccompanied by the
philanthropic activities which are a part of it. We white
men became the friends of those who needed us ; we edu-
cated their children; we built hospitals for the sick; we
saved them from death when starving. We did it mostly
with foreign money; our spiritual instruction and our
deeds of benevolence went hand in hand. In doing this
were we on the wrong track? Did we fail to foster a
hardy, self-reliant growth in our converts? Was the
Christian community in Asia being pauperized by means
of money given by the home churches ?

SELF-SUPPORT IN PRACTICE 35T

During all the years since then this question has been
discussed by the younger men. We pioneers undoubtedly
have passed serious problems on to them. Perhaps they
are right in feeling that if we had laid the foundations
differently; if we had insisted on self-help among the
native Christians from the beginning, the burdens of our
successors would be less heavy. I know that I am one of
the men of the old days who was called ''a father of the
poor." It seems to me, in the light of my experience,
that if I stood again at the beginning of the work in
Ongole, I should take the same course right over again.
It was not possible in the early days of the movement to
foresee any undesirable consequences in my policy of
helping the people. There was so much love and Chris-
tian spirit abroad among our early Christians that very
little of a grasping disposition appeared on the surface.
Later on, I must admit, this appeared more and more.
I worked hard then to suppress it, but not always and in
every direction with success.

There were some things which I could not do, and
which no amount of outside pressure could make me do.
One of these was to preach to a crowd of hungry people.
If the people of a village came to hear me, and I knew by
their looks, as they stood or sat before me, that they had
not had a square meal for days and weeks, I found I
could not talk to them about the love of Jesus for them.
I sent them off with a few coins first and told them to
eat and then come back and hear my message. Some-
times younger missionaries remonstrated with me. They
said I was making paupers of the people. To such I said,
"Were you ever hungry, brother? Well, these people
are hungry, and I know what it means to be hungry, and
I am not going to let these people suffer if I can help it."
If I went too far in this I cannot say that I now regret

352 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

it. I was only obeying the command, "Be ye merciful,
even as your Father in heaven is merciful."

This might have been less pronounced in me if I had
not endured poverty during our pioneering days in Amer-
ica. It was hard schooling when, as a boy, during
a winter on the western prairies, my mother had nothing
to give me to eat but porridge and potatoes, and not
enough of that. I never forgot how it felt. It became
second nature to me to put a coin into a hungry man's
hand and tell him to go and get something to eat. When
whole villages of people came to me sometimes and com-
plained that they had only porridge to eat, one meal a
day, I used to say to them : "You cannot tell me any-
thing about poverty. I, too, have lived by the week on
little else than corn meal mush." They knew then that
they were understood.

From the beginning we had certain rules concerning
definite acts of self-help which by common consent we
felt bound to require from groups of believers. One of
these was that if the Christians of a village wanted a
schoolhouse, generally of mud walls and thatch roof,
they must carry part of the outlay. But when I knew
that many of them lived in huts which they could only
with difficulty keep from tumbling to pieces over their
heads, it went against my grain to enforce that rule.
Then there was the question of supporting a teacher for
their schools. The people often stinted themselves in
order to do it. Those Madiga parents, like parents the
world over, lived in their children. To see them learn
to read was a satisfaction for which they were willing
to deny themselves till it hurt. But there was pressure
from several directions. The Sudra landowners, who
employed the Madiga families, expected the children to
come to work, at least to tend the buffaloes and sheep.

SELF-SUPPORT IN PRACTICE

353

If they went to school the portion of grain given the
family was less in proportion.

When I saw bright children out in the villages, and
urged the parents to send them to school, I was often
met with the cry, ''Then we, and they, too, must go
hungry." By means of emphasis they slapped their
wasted bodies to show me how thin a covering of flesh
they had over their bones. When I was a boy in the
newly settled West I had known families to deprive
themselves almost of the necessaries of life in order to
educate their children. But never had I seen them come
so close to hunger as here among these Madigas, down-
trodden for centuries. Over in Christian America there
was abundance of money. Was it wrong to apply it to
these people when they wanted to see their children take
the first step out of degradation and ignorance?

In these questions I fell back upon the training which
I received in my youth and early manhood on what was
then the frontier of American civilization. I had seen
how money was poured in from the Eastern states to
plant and endow educational institutions, to help students
who needed help, to subsidize struggling churches. No
one had taught us that money was bad. True, Ameri-
cans were there helping Americans. The contention was
that Asiatics should help Asiatics. But I felt that this
was not just; for I believed that when an American mis-
sionary society sent their messengers to a foreign land
with tidings of salvation, and they were received by the
people, then that society was under moral obligation to
furnish the means to enable Asiatic people to take the
first steps out of the old life into the new life. I knew
how abundant the financial resources of Americans were,
and I had seen when on furlough how willing they were
to give. To me the agitation concerning self-support,
at that time, seemed a violation of an unwritten contract

354 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

between the missionary societies and the Asiatic people
whom they had drawn under their influence and fur-
nished with desires toward a code of life that included
education and social betterment.

There was a wide difference between the thrifty, re-
sourceful American pioneers among whom I grew up and
my downtrodden Madigas. Their poverty pressed me
sorely. I chafed under it often; for I had to reckon with
it ceaselessly. I was too loyal to the Madigas to say it,
but if God had sent me the Sudras, how different it
would have been! Then I could have left behind me a
self-supporting Christian community. The methods of
self-help which were a partial success with the Madigas
would have been a complete success with the Sudras.
This was evidently not to be. The missionaries who
came after me, too, had to face the poverty of the Madi-
gas, and make up their minds that here was something
that could knock over any scheme of self-help which they
might try, no matter how patiently. Often at confer-
ences I listened to their discussions, and when my turn
came to speak I exclaimed, "Brethren, you cannot squeeze
blood out of a turnip !" It was a homely phrase, but it
covered the ground and expressed my meaning.

Our society, like most other missionary societies, was
under pressure during those years in the direction of
making it binding upon their missionaries to train the
native Christians to self-help. Committees were set to
work to ascertain the point which had been reached in
this respect. We on the field received circulars asking
us to state definitely what the churches in our care were
doing in carrying their expenses. To an American com-
mittee, accustomed to looking upon money as the medium
of exchange, it must have seemed no answer at all, when
we tried to tell them of Asiatic ways of payment in kind.
I never tried my hand at figuring it out on paper; it

SELF-SUPPORT IN PRACTICE 355

could not be done. I would have had to go into long ex-
planations about the cooperative system of the Indian
village community, with which American business men
would not have wished to consume their time. Suppose
the Sudra master, at harvest time, gave the Madiga a
portion of grain in return for the labor of a season, and
he passed some of this over to his preacher, or teacher,
how was it to be expected that the record of this trans-
action, repeated hundreds of times over the field, was to
reach me, and reach me in a form useful for the making
up of statistical tables? Moreover, I had some doubts
about insisting upon computing how much each one gave.
I liked their Indian way of giving, and did not believe in
scrutinizing it too closely.

My supply of funds from headquarters was cut down
in 1885; cut down so that we all felt it. The Woman's
Baptist Foreign Missionary Society of the West, which
had been furnishing funds year after year for the edu-
cation of our girls and women, was also compelled to cut
down supplies. It was a trying time to those who were
bearing the burdens at home, as well as to us. They were
expected to answer questions which they had not the in-
formation to answer. It took a knowledge of the way
in which the people of the East live in order to determine
whether the Christians were rising to a manly condition
of self-help, or whether they were weakening under a
system of foreign beneficence.

I began now to talk this over with the older preachers.
Rumor had reached them through their friends in other
stations of our Telugu Mission that their missionaries
were in similar straits : they all ha*! received an order
from America to cut down the support given to their
workers. In some of these stations monthly salaries
were given by the missionaries. To cut these down
meant hardships to the workers, and in some cases dis-

35^ SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

missal for lack of funds. In this emergency our system
at Ongole, of giving a quarterly subsidy, seemed to lend
itself to a spirit of independence. Our workers felt that
they could rise above this situation and relieve the mis-
sion of their support, since they had not, at any time,
depended solely upon the mission.

What is called the Ongole method of self-support was
evolved through stress of circumstances, and was there-
fore adapted to the condition of the people. At the be-
ginning of my work in Ongole, Yerraguntla Periah gave
me the hints which I elaborated. He did not want sal-
ary. If I had let him continue in the methods of the
Indian religious teacher he would have taken care of
himself. When I asked him to enter upon Christian
propaganda, introducing American methods such as com-
ing to Ongole at stated intervals to confer with me, he
convinced me that this called for a subsidy of American
money. This method justified itself abundantly; for the
staff of workers on the field soon increased with such
rapidity that if I had begun on the salary system I could
not have carried it forward even before the ingathering,
much less afterwards.

The Ongole method of self-support is an organic
part of the Ongole method of employing large native
agency. The missionaries who have taken over the ten
stations into which, in the course of years, the Ongole
field was divided have, in most cases, seen no reason to
depart from this method. It is said that missions of
other societies, in their formative period, have taken note
of our way of doing. It is a contribution not only from
the theoretical point of view, but as something which has
stood the test of practice.

At that time, in 1885, the preachers felt that it would
not require great self-denial if they were to cut loose
from the financial support of the mission. We held a

SELF-SUPPORT IN PRACTICE 357

meeting and gave the older workers an opportunity to
speak their minds. Very frank, straightforward words
some of them spoke. They said :

"If the American Christians think we have been children
long enough and now must show how we can stand by our-
selves, very well, we will try it. They have sent us a new
religion, and have shown us a new way to live. For this we
must be thankful to them. The mission is now giving us
very little. We are willing to work without it. Our mem-
bers would support us, if the crops were always good. But
when they and their children have not enough to eat, how
can they give to us? Therefore, the only way for us to do
is to eat of the labor of our hands. Some of us already
own a little field and a buffalo or two. Our wives and
children thus have something to depend upon when other
supplies fail us. Let us work harder with our hands, and
we can nevertheless go about preaching and ask nothing
from the mission."

I had to take them at their word, and I did it with
great misgivings. It was the method of the Apostle Paul,
yet he distinctly did not advocate this method for anyone
else. I knew that only our most capable workers could
make this a success. I feared that by gaining a point
in self-support we might lose several points in the evan-
gelistic work of the field. It was at best an experiment.
I was glad when the way opened to me so that the work-
ers could go back to the old order of things.

With this question of self-support ever pressing upon
us, a crisis was now coming upon our Telugu Mission.
The force of missionaries for the past few years
had been only barely sufficient for the needs of the
field. We now had thirteen stations. The Ongole sta-
tion still had about 15,000 Christians connected with it —
surely a sufficient load, but I had seen heavier loads and

358 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

did not complain. My field was now shut in, bounded on
the north, west and south by other stations of our mis-
sion. I could not extend my outposts, but I worked hard
within my borders.

The year 1886 marked an almost wholesale depletion
of our ranks, as missionaries, leaving only about one
half of our number on the field. Early in the year Dr.
and Mrs. Jewett left India, both in very feeble health.
They did not return, and thus one pillar of strength was
removed. Dr. Jewett died in 1897. ''With eyes uplifted
toward heaven he beckoned with a familiar oriental ges-
ture, and said, 'Come, Lord Jesus.' Then in a moment
he exclaimed with rapture, 'Jesus is coming.' After this
he knew no more of earth."

Dr. Williams had to go home with his family, which
meant that another of my old comrades was gone. Two
of the new stations established in the outlying taluks of
the old Ongole field lost their missionaries through
breakdown of health. One station came back to me for
one year, the other for five years. The Hindus spread a
report over those two fields that their gods had driven
away two missionaries and the Americans were not go-
ing to send any more to either place. I met this cry by
stationing a Eurasian evangelist in one of those stations.
The high school was transferred to me, and for five years
it was without an American principal. I had to do the
best I could to keep it going. I was made the burden
bearer of the mission. Those were hard, grinding years.
Work, work from morning till night. I called myself the
head coolie of the district.

When I realized that there was no immediate prospect
of help from America I looked about me in India. Our
boarding schools in Ongole were in the care of Eurasian
ladies. I already had a Eurasian assistant stationed at
the outposts. I now engaged another assistant to help

SELF-SUPPORT IN PRACTICE 359

me at Ongole, by being a kind of right-hand man. It
worked well. During two and a half years I leaned a
good deal on him, as he took more and more of the de-
tail of the work off my hands. Death took him away.
He said good-bye to me one morning to go on tour; he
never went. Before he could start, typhoid fever laid
him low, and twelve days later he was gone. To every-
one who came to the bungalow and spoke his feelings by
asking, **Why has God done this?" — my one reply was,
**Jesus makes no mistakes."

A year before this my physical strength had given
way to the strain. By the blessing of God my excellent
constitution had thus far been equal to the constant heavy
work and care, without let-up. But now a break had
come. Ill health was on me, and now indeed I was stag-
gering at my post. It came through a tour into the
Darsi taluk. I knew that my presence was needed in
Ongole, and did not linger long anywhere. But it
was a good tour, and I felt that I had never worked
harder in touring in my life than during those fifteen
days. I baptized 420. This done, I started for
home, and as I was nearing Ongole I had to ride the
last miles very slowly, because my pony had walked all
the shoes off his feet, except the half of one, and his feet
were sore. The slow riding meant long exposure to
the sun. Already worn with overwork, it was too much
for me. A slight sunstroke was the result. Dizzy at-
tacks now became the order of the day whenever I
worked a little beyond my strength. My physical elas-
ticity was gone and my resources grew less and less.
Afterwards an eminent surgeon in America said I must
have burst a blood vessel in the brain during that tour,
and that it was a wonder I survived at all. Yet it was
not till two years from that time that I was released and
could go on furlough.

360 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

What was against me now in my broken-down condi-
tion was the inability of the people to grasp the fact that
the one on whom they had been laying their burdens for
many a year was now scarcely able to bear his own.
They were so accustomed to see me in my place and al-
ways at work that when I now had my doors closed, and
it was said that I was sick, it seemed beyond their com-
prehension. But the government medical officer at On-
gole saw what was needed. He ordered me to our little
bungalow at Kottapatam by the sea, ten miles east of
Ongole, and there I now stayed much of the time; for
there I could rest and yet could keep my hand on the
work in Ongole.

It would not have been possible for me to hold that
field together in a thriving condition if it had not been
for the strong band of native preachers who were a part
of the movement. I was at the head, and formed the
link between the field and our society in America. They
did the rest. The group of men who came to us at the
beginning now stood out with prominence. The people
called them the "big, or elder, preachers." They were
the men who had made the search for truth in Hindu
religious movements before they knew anything of the
Christian religion. Their apprenticeship as Christian
preachers had been served under me; they had stood by
my side during famine and ingathering. They were pil-
lars of strength to me. We had had successive classes of
graduates from the theological seminary, and some of
them were leaders among their people. But those **big
preachers" had a place in the hearts of us all which was
undisputed. Somehow there was a spiritual background
with those men which we all felt, and to which we
yielded the first place.

I began to wonder whether the time had come when
the strength of this work would have to undergo a severe

SELF-SUPPORT IN PRACTICE 36 1

test. It would have been premature to make the native
church wholly responsible. But with no missionaries
from America in sight, our appeals bringing no apparent
response — it looked as if something of that kind might
be coming at a time not very far off. Sometimes, when
too ill for days to leave my bed, I told myself that it
would not take much to extinguish the little flame of life
that was now only flickering in my body. If they carried
all that remained of me around the hill to our cemetery,
then what would become of this Ongole Mission?

I felt that I wanted to talk this over with those faith-
ful men, the ''big preachers" of the mission. Yerraguntla
Periah was still with us, an old man now, but a host in
himself. There were others like him. They had evi-
dently faced the situation from their own point of view.
They saw how I was left alone year after year. Their
one fear was that some day they might come to Ongole
and find that I was gone, sent out of the country per-
haps, suddenly, by doctor's orders, as is sometimes the
case in India. I asked them what they would do if I had
to leave them. They refused to face this. They said
they would do all the work contentedly if only they knew
that I was at Ongole and had not left them. I said, ''Sup-
pose the day is near when you will have to learn to stand
with no white missionary to help you." They replied,
"We cannot do it yet. Wait till our children grow up.
They are in school, and are getting the education that is
necessary before we native people can stand alone. Stay
with us till they are grown up. Then we will be able to
get on without missionaries from America. Not yet."
There it was left. I could give them no assurance. I
told them we must all look to God for help ; for the work
was his.

After I had taken them into my confidence, the preach-
ers looked about on their fields, and talked the situation

362 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

over together. There were converts everywhere in the
villages ready for baptism. The preachers had put them
off and told them to wait till ''our Clough Dhora" could
come on tour, or some other missionary. As they real-
ized that no one could come to them, they began to ask
themselves why they should not gather the people to-
gether and take them to Ongole for baptism. It required
some concerted action : the villages needed to be stirred.
Rumors began to spread from village to village that large
companies of converts were going to walk long dis-
tances to Ongole to receive baptism. Even those who
lived thirty or forty miles from Ongole did not hesitate.
It meant several days of walking, at the rate of ten
miles a day, and there were the weary miles back home.
They knew they would be footsore in doing it. But a
revival was once more sweeping over the Madiga com-
munity. To go to Ongole and receive Christian baptism
was the one thing they wanted to do, and they forgot the
miles they had to walk.

I became aware of this movement. It looked as if
upon us, who were so little able to bear more than
a very quiet daily routine, a revival was now coming,
the like of which we had not seen since the great in-
gathering thirteen years before. When the preachers
came to the usual quarterly meeting, December 14,
1890, they brought with them 352 converts for bap-
tism. They told me that many more were waiting,
and urged me not to put them off much longer, lest
they grow disheartened. We therefore decided on an-
other meeting two weeks hence.

The preachers went out into the villages to gather the
converts. Saturday afternoon, December 27, a great
crowd began pouring into the mission compound. Sun-
day morning we saw that the chapel could not hold one
third of the people ; for they had come by thousands. We

rv )j^yil£M'%.^P

"One thing I know: I loved the people. And xvhen I told them in the
simplest zvords that I could use about Jesus Christ and his love for them, they
somehow believed me. Whether my listeners were a few, or 'whether they
zvere a cro-ad, by the time I zivs done telling them of Jesus' love they believed
in it and wanted it."

SELF-SUPPORT IN PRACTICE 363

discarded the chapel and seated the people under the
margosa trees near the veranda of my study. I stood on
the veranda steps and preached to them for an hour on
my favorite text : ''Come unto me, all ye that labor and
are heavy laden." After the sermon the preachers spent
some hours in the examination of those who had come
for baptism.

We began baptizing early in the afternoon in the bap-
tistery under the big tamarind tree in the middle of the
garden, close to my bungalow. Two preachers officiated
at a time, much as we had done at Vellumpilly twelve and
a half years before. It took four and one half hours,
and the total was 1,671. Many who could not come the
fifty or sixty miles into Ongole sent us urgent appeals to
come out there and baptize them. I could not go, and I
had no one to send.

A revival was on us. It was not confined to Ongole.
From the time way back in 1869, two years after I be-
gan work in Ongole, when a revival broke out in Cum-
bum, and hundreds were baptized, that field had continued
fruitful and prosperous. During the past eight years it
had been independent of Ongole, with its own mission-
ary. Rev. John Newcomb. Ongole and Cumbum now
kept pace. During the three months beginning with the
quarterly meeting in December, 1890, we at Ongole bap-
tized 3,765 converts, the missionary at Cumbum 1,466.
Cumbum at the time of the great ingathering belonged to
Ongole, and the proportion of baptisms now approached
closely the relative figures at that time. There was no
famine now ; no one had reason to look for material bene-
fits. The people had become roused; they were asking
about spiritual gifts; they knew they had souls and
wanted to find a way to save them.

Thus did God show us that he could work his will and
complete his own purposes wholly regardless of what was

364 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

done by the churches in America. To teach men and
women to beHeve in Jesus Christ was what he had called
us to do. They were believing by thousands. We had
not the strength to gather them in. It looked almost as
if the Telugu Mission had had a life all its own, and as if
the Lord Jesus had taken it into his special care.

XXI

THE RESPONSE AT HOME

Those years in the eighties were a time of great strain
in the foreign missionary enterprise. It came through
the far-reaching changes that were taking place the
world over. The East was waking up, and the West was
becoming aware of great opportunities open to those
who knew how to seize them.

Travelers were going around the world, bringing back
tidings of the ancient civilizations they had seen. Com-
merce was spreading fast ; political relations were grow-
ing; consular service became a necessity; and ambassa-
dors from Western governments were sent to nations of
the East, whose doors had until recently been closed to
the white race.

The men and women of our nation were beginning to
take a keen interest in the races populating distant parts
of the world. The resourcefulness of the Asiatics was a
marvel to Americans, as they read about them in the daily
papers. Many had first heard about oriental races in
missionary meetings. It was now more than twenty years
since the women of the churches had put forth organized
efforts. They had carried the children with them, en-
listing their sympathy. These children were growing
into manhood and womanhood and gave evidence of
their training.

We missionaries at the outposts were sending home to

365

366 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

our constituency reports of the fields open and waiting
for occupancy. We were appealing for a more aggres-
sive policy. The question was whether missionary ac-
tivities could keep step with the progress of the time.
There was much response in the home churches. Men
saw that a new basis for missionary endeavor was
needed ; something far-reaching must be undertaken.
The missionary societies were under fire, especially from
the financial point of view. Existing methods seemed too
slow. There were aggressive men who pointed out that
since the world was now open, men and women of zeal
should be given brief missionary training, and sent out
in numbers to carry the gospel to all parts of the world.
An idea prevailed that by some sudden process the
heathen were to believe in Jesus Christ, to form them-
selves into churches, become self-sustaining, and then
promptly be left to themselves. The various attempts to
solve the question of winning the world for Christ were
watched with deep interest. Men were working their
way through to new ideas of Christian activity.

During those years, while the missionary motive de-
manded expansion, the call for social service began dis-
tinctly to be heard in the churches. Forerunners of a
new era talked of the kingdom of Christ which w^as to
come on earth, to save not only the souls of men, but
their whole environment. Social Christianity was wak-
ing up the churches at home. The efifects were felt on
the foreign field. Men were introducing business meth-
ods into phases of Christian life that had lain dormant.
The energy of modern Western civilization pulsated in
movements that united business capacity and strategic
skill to the desire to exalt Jesus Christ in the hearts of
men. The Young Men's Christian Association had for
years been doing pioneer work in this respect, and was
now carrying its work to foreign lands. It was the first

THE RESPONSE AT HOME 367

movement of the kind that gathered Christian men into
one united effort beyond the boundary Hues of denomi-
nationalism.

Situations such as existed in our Telugu Mission
brought into clear outHne the demand for larger re-
sources. There was no adequate recruiting agency at
the command of the missionary boards to form the link
between the demands of the foreign field and the supply
which had to be drawn from the theological institutions
and the men already in the pastorate. As a first step
toward concerted action the Inter-Seminary Alliance
was formed during those years. It was a united effort
of missionary societies, and was in the right direction.
But something more far-reaching was needed. The de-
mand for men on the foreign field continued to outrun
the supply available. The boards were ever under pres-
sure. They enlisted a man here and a man there, while
they felt that the call of the hour was for an uprising of
many men, ready to respond. The time was ripe for
such an undertaking as the Student Volunteer Movement.

It was in the summer of 1886. Three hundred stu-
dents from ninety colleges were in conference at North-
field. Christian service was the subject; no one talked
of foreign missions. A nucleus of men among the stu-
dents, however, had a spiritual passion for the world's
evangelization. They met in their rooms; others joined
them. It spread. A call went out to every one of the
students. They had meetings of consecration of which
men afterwards could not speak without deep emotion.
A pledge was passed around, expressing the willingness,
if God permit, to become a foreign missionary. One
hundred of the men signed it. They went back to their
studies. Two of them visited the colleges of the United
States from East to West. The young intellectual life of
America was touched. It was a great onward move-

368 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

ment, which had due regard for denominational lines,
and yet, in the spirit of it, went far beyond them. The
urgent call from the foreign field was answered by thou-
sands of Student Volunteers.

All this would not have been possible if there had not
been a deep undercurrent of missionary interest in the
churches, ready always to flow forth to meet an emer-
gency. It was fed by the tidings which came home from
the foreign field. Each denomination had its special
fields, with which the men and women and children of
the churches became acquainted, as with something that
belonged to them. The Baptists had no mission dearer to
them than the Telugu Mission. There were men still
living who were present during the "Lone Star'* debate
at Albany, in 1853. They gave their reminiscences.
Other points of contact had been made. In emergencies
the men and women of those days had helped. It was a
rich experience in their lives. It had happened in their
own Hfetime that prophecy had been fulfilled, and that
something that looked a good deal like a miracle had
taken place. After all, it was not only in Bible times
that men were moved as by divine inspiration. Such
things had happened in their own day. Men did not
weary of the story.

Year after year the call from the Telugu Mission beg-
ging for reenforcement was heard in the churches. We
were not alone in this. The missions in China, Japan,
Burma and Africa were calling for men. We men at
the front were bowed down under our burdens till our
cries rose to God Almighty. Help was coming. The
churches were slowly becoming roused. Men were feel-
ing after information. If some one would rise up and
point out the way a host was ready to follow. Pastors
and laymen were talking it over together. There was an
undercurrent of impatience. Men were weary of these

THE RESPONSE AT HOME 369

cries from their mission fields. Something must be done.
Many were ready to act.

The annual meeting of 1890 came. Again the re-
ports from the several mission fields contained one long
plea for reenforcement. We of the Telugu Mission had
sent home an appeal, to which we all had signed our
names. We were nine men and twelve women, in
charge of ten mission stations and 33,000 Telugu
Christians. Our appeal was printed. It was distributed
during the meetings, and touched the hearts of many
who felt that this could no longer be endured.

A crisis was at hand. Dr. Murdock was the one who
met it. He was nearing the close of a long term of ser-
vice as Foreign Secretary. With his wide outlook he
knew the signs of the times. He knew that a period of
reconstruction for our society was at hand. What form
the change would take he did not know. The few can-
didates for foreign service of that year were standing
on the platform. They had told briefly of their call to
the service, and had received words of cheer and advice.
Now came a sudden turn in events, unexpected but far-
reaching. Dr. Henry C. Mabie was sitting in the audi-
ence. Dr. Murdock requested him to come to the plat-
form and of¥er the dedicatory prayer. He went up, and
stood with the candidates. He turned to the audience
and asked permission to speak. Words fell in a torrent
from his lips. All that other men had felt, and longed
to express, he now said for them. It raised a storm of
sympathetic response. The dedicatory prayer was of-
fered. This prayer marked a turn in the history of the
society.

The progressive element among the pastors wanted Dr.
Mabie to represent them. The next day he was elected
Home Secretary of the society. A new ofhce was thus
created. There was to be a united effort at enlargement

370 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

and expansion. It was decided that the new secretary
should first travel around the world, and visit the mis-
sions of the society in Japan, China, Burma and India,
and study the needs of the field. The denomination was
getting ready to do something on a new scale. They
were prepared to stand by him when he came back with
his report, no matter what the demand might be.

I heard of all this, and was glad. I had had personal
contacts with Dr. Mabie since the time when he was a lad
of seventeen, and I rode over the prairies of Iowa with
his uncle, telling him of my call to the foreign field.
Twice in the course of the years I appealed to him to
come to India. I always felt the man would have to
come some day. He wrote to me now : "You see, the
way is opening to go myself at last. I have yearned to
go and personally relieve you for a time, that you might
come home to rest. Cheer up, beloved, I'll do m^y best,
and I am daily by your side via the mercy seat." He
came in January, 1891. We were to meet him in Nel-
lore and have a conference with him. I rode all night in
my cart, and when I halted, at early dawn, before the
mission bungalow in Nellore, he stood there in the gray
light. I put my hands on his shoulders and shook him,
and said, "We have you here at last, old fellow. Now
get away again, if you can."

Decisive plans for the future of the Telugu Mission
were now made. The whole field, from north to south,
was to be reenforced. The new secretary, supported by
my fellow-missionaries, laid it upon me to go to America,
enlist twenty-five men for the Telugu Mission, and col-
lect $50,000 to equip them. The division of the Ongole
field was part of the project. My impaired health had
shown to us all that if I were permanently incapacitated,
or withdrawn by death, the result might be disastrous
to the work. I was to provide for it while it was still

THE RESPONSE AT HOME 37I

in my power to do so. It was not an easy decision for
me to face. I had seen this emergency ahead only as
through a glass, dimly. My load was heavy, to be sure,
but there was much consolation in carrying it. Very
reluctantly I yielded, and agreed to the new plans.

It was hard to break away from Ongole. The people
protested. The faithful band of preachers came in from
the field. It took me three days to convince them of
the necessity for my going, and to put courage into
them. Upon them, and upon all the thousands who
now came and went, inquiring what was going to be
done, I put a burden which they promised to carry.
They agreed to pray every day for my success in Amer-
ica, that I might get the twenty-five men and the
needed money, and come back to them soon. Consid-
ering that we had 30,000 members, who in varying de-
gree of faithfulness voiced this petition every day — it
produced a volume of power. They used to add, **Let
him get it easily; for he is not well."

I arrived in Boston May 17, 1891. The annual meet-
ings were to be held in Cincinnati ten days later. To
go there and state before a great audience what I had
come home to get for my mission was a task suited to
a well man, not to one who had to hoard his strength
as a miser does his gold. If I could have spoken in
Telugu, to dusky faces, I would not have cared how
many thousands were before me. But my English
tongue for public speaking was rusty. I quietly went on
the platform during the morning session, and sat there
to get accustomed to a sea of white faces.

As the time approached for my address, in the eve-
ning, my strength was sinking. Nevertheless, I was
upheld. The house was packed. I spoke for forty
minutes. When I came before the audience, they ap-
plauded. It was the last thing I wanted. I stretched

372 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

out my arm and made the emphatic, rapid movement
with my hand which is the Telugu gesture for, "No, no ;
I do not want it." Some of the papers reported that I
put forth my hand as if to ward off a blow. I knew
how my countrymen enjoyed having their feehngs stirred
by missionary adventure. On former visits in America
I sometimes told them we did not want their tears, be-
cause missions were not run by water power. The
papers talked of me as a venerable old man, yet I was
only fifty-five years of age, grown prematurely old
through the burdens I had carried.

I began by saying, "Fathers and Brethren of the For-
eign Mission Society, you will have to be patient with me.
I will do the best I can, but I am not well. I have not
an English tongue with me, and I have been in the
United States only ten days. God help you to under-
stand our situation." I told them in simple words how
the Telugu Mission had grown until now it was neces-
sary to make some special effort to establish it. We must
have twenty-five new men, and also $50,000 to send
these men out and build houses for them and provide
their salaries for one year. I asked them to grant
this request soon, without expecting great labor from
me; for I was broken in health, and must regain my
strength in order to go back to my people in India.
Nearly five thousand dollars were subscribed at this meet-
ing. The Baptists were stirred.

This was the sequel to that memorable meeting in
Albany, in 1853, when men wept because they felt the
abandonment of the Telugu Mission was not to be en-
dured. Here now they had a man before them who for
years had been staggering under the load of the harvest
that had come. I made a heavy demand upon them.
They granted everything for which I asked. One year
later, most of the twenty-five men, and as many women,

THE RESPONSE AT HOME 373

stood on the platform together, at the annual meeting,
ready to go to the Telngu Mission. Fifty thousand
dollars were given to me twice over, because when the
first was on hand, we asked for an endowment for a
college at Ongole. Often, out in India, I had felt forsaken
by my constituency. Now when I came home, and stood
before the men of my denomination, they granted every-
thing I asked of them. Had I asked for more they
would not have withheld it.

The Lord Jesus was in it. The work in the Telugu
Mission was his work. I was only the man who had tried
to do his bidding, all through the years. When now
I formed the link with his followers in America, there
was instant response. He was bringing the uttermost
parts of the earth together in spiritual contact.

I could not begin my task at once. Six months were
passed with my family in recuperation. Meanwhile I
was getting my bearings. I soon found that I was being
carried along by the strong current of spiritual energy
and consecration which had been generated by the
Student Volunteer Movement. When I had to find four
men for the Telugu Mission in 1873, I had no move-
ment of that kind to help me. It was as hard then to
get the four as it was now to get the twenty-five. Bap-
tists had participated in that movement. Some of the
leaders in it were Baptists. Ten of the twenty-five men
whom I enlisted for the Telugus had signed the Volun-
teer Declaration. No wonder that a man like me, worn
with service, could find his twenty-five recruits before
a year had passed by.

Everywhere I found the hearts of people warm with
interest in the Telugu Mission. The story of it had
been told and retold. Yet they wanted to hear more.
It was no longer possible for me to go about and hold
meetings at rapid intervals, as I did on previous visits

374 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

in the United States. Generally several churches com-
bined in some large gathering. Thus I could reach many
with a minimum of effort. Dr. Mabie was conducting
a campaign in which the home forces of the society par-
ticipated. Great meetings were held. The second of
these was at Des Moines, Iowa. I was present, and
found myself on familiar ground, in the state from
which I was sent to India. Faces of old friends greeted
me. The warm grasp of their hands showed me that I
was not forgotten. Men from adjoining states were
there. The meetings overflowed from the Baptist meet-
ing-house into the larger Presbyterian edifice. On the
closing night the large opera house of the city was
freely offered. Crowds were coming that night to hear
me tell the story of the Telugu Mission. Not less than
fifteen men and women soon after volunteered for service
abroad. Several of these are to this day filling prominent
places in various missions. The men for the Telugus
were coming, and now we were recruiting other mis-
sions as well. Those who had long been looking for
some great forward movement began to think that signs
of it were at hand.

There were great celebrations in America at that time.
The year 1892 completed four hundred years since the
discovery of America by Columbus. The World's Fair
was held in Chicago. Americans were in a mood to do
something big, and to see money poured out in streams.
The missionary enterprise, too, had a centenary to cele-
brate. It was now one hundred years since Dr. William
Carey went to India. The Baptists in England were rais-
ing a centenary fund of £100,000 for their foreign mis-
sions.

The American Baptists had helped support Carey and
his associates till Adoniram Judson, in 1814, gave us
occasion to form our own missionary society. We de-

THE RESPONSE AT HOME 375

cided that we, too, would celebrate the Carey Centenary.
A milHon dollars and one hundred new missionaries were
called for, to reenforce all our mission fields. The Bap-
tists had never faced such an undertaking before. But
the Telugu Mission had already served as the enter-
ing wedge. Men and money on a large scale were in
sight. The denomination rose to the call. At the end
of 1892 the project was announced a complete success.
The first part of my task was finished when 1892 be-
gan. Then there came a call for a second $50,000.
The leading high caste inhabitants of Ongole had sent a
petition to our Foreign Mission Society, signed by about
fifty of them. They requested in very courteous and
urgent terms that our high school in Ongole might be
raised to the grade of a college. They wished hence-
forth to look to the Baptist Mission for the education
of their sons, paying fees as they would in a govern-
ment institution. They wrote:

"Missionaries have been sent out to preach the Christian
faith. While fulfilling the object of their mission, they have
not ignored the general status of the people ; with a view to
develop the nobler qualities of man they have awakened in
them a desire after Western education."

This petition was regarded in Boston as an historical
document. A long road lay between the request it con-
tained and the time in 1867 when the Brahmans of
Ongole broke up, for the time being, a government
school, because I tried to bring three Christian boys
into it. The change was considered a sign of the times.
Again I had opposition to face. My fellow-mission-
aries were against the project almost to a man. They
united in sending a protest to Boston : they did not want
a college, because few Christian lads were ready to

37^ SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

enter, and the heathen, they claimed, should have no
consideration in this matter. In America, too, here and
there, the old argument against the use of mission
money for secular education of the heathen was revived.
I held out against it all. I knew I was on the right
road. Several other missionary societies in America and
in Europe had founded and endowed large colleges in
non-Christian lands. I refused to believe that we Baptists
could be on the wrong track by endowing a college for
our growing Christian community of about 200,000 ad-
herents, letting the caste people send their sons to it, ac-
cording to their request.

I went ahead. I had the leading men of our society
with me. Dr. Mabie told Americans of his interview
with the Brahmans of Ongole, when they requested
him to tell his countrymen that they would intrust their
sons to our care. Dr. Murdock handled the situation
in a masterly fashion. From beginning to end through
all the years he had stood by me with an unwavering
support, while I sought to provide educational equipment
for our Telugu Christians. Through the denominational
press the two secretaries announced the project of a
second $50,000 for the Telugu Mission, as an endow-
ment for a college.

I had been going, in a friendly way, to the home of
John D. Rockefeller, but had not thus far asked him
to help. me. Now I told him I needed him. Ten years
before he gave money for our large high school build-
ing. He agreed to take half of this present load upon
himself; he knew I could carry the other half. In six
months the task was completed. An iUiterate people
I had found those Madigas twenty years before. There
was no reason now why they should not have physicians
and lawyers and teachers and government officials of
their own, to help in the uplifting of their fellows.

THE RESPONSE AT HOME 377

This last stroke of work was strenuous, but by it the
permanence of our Telugu Mission was assured. If now
by death, or other cause, I were removed from my post, it
would apparently make no difference. The stability of
the work was insured, so far as resources from America
were concerned. I returned to India toward the end
of 1892, prepared to help in the readjustments proposed.

Two of my daughters, with their husbands, were
among the new missionaries, and had preceded me.
My two sons were settled in business in America. My
youngest daughter was in college. Mrs. Clough had
made a home for our children until they had obtained
a college education, and for my aged mother till she
died. My children grew up without the personal care of
their father, except by weekly letters, but they had the
wise care of their mother.

A few months after my return to Ongole our family
circle was greatly bereaved in the death of Mrs. Clough.
The cable message came to us in India like a sudden
blow. Through an accident a heavy article of furniture
fell upon her. A long period of unconsciousness fol-
lowed. She died on the morning of May 15, 1893. The
sudden nature of her death accentuated the sorrow which
was widely expressed.

It was a somewhat dark time for me out in India.
I did not see my way before me clearly. My field
was to be divided. I cannot say that it was easy for
me to let the care of the people pass into other hands.
I had known for years that this was bound to come,
and had done all in my power to bring it to pass. Our
Christians, too, had known that it was coming, and
willingly now entered into the changes which it brought.
I waited until the new missionaries had had a year for
the study of the Telugu language. Then, one after an-
other, they took over portions of my old field, follow-

37^ SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

ing the taluk boundaries. Each man built a bungalow
in the taluk town, and began the activities of a separate
mission station. The original Ongole field had covered
more than ten taluks. The outlying taluks had been
made independent fields in 1883. The rest were staked
off now. I kept the Ongole taluk and one adjoining it.

Again we dealt with large groups in giving letters of
dismissal from the Ongole church to those who were
now to form new churches in their taluk towns. Again
I sent the people away with words of blessing, com-
mitting them to the care of the Lord Jesus, as I had
always done. I told them to be faithful in their new
relations, but to remember the Ongole Mission always as
their mother. I felt it keenly when I had to give up
the Kanigiri taluk. The old Kanigiri preachers were
sitting on the platform once more with the rest. Their
faces brought to my memory the old days, when the
movement began in the Kanigiri taluk and spread so
fast. To their new missionary, who stood on the plat-
form with me, I said, "I give you the apple of my eye.
Take care of that field." He still remains with them.

The twenty-five new men reen forced our Telugu Mis-
sion from north to south. For the first time in our
history we could say that our mission was well-manned.
We had staked our boundaries in 1873. Strategic points
had been waiting for occupancy. Now we could bring
our plans to pass. By the time our adjustments were
completed we had more than twenty mission stations,
and in several of them additional men were located for
educational or medical work. There was much activity,
much reaching out. In some of the more remote places
the new missionaries found new ground, and entered
upon no man's labors. In the fields, however, that had
formerly belonged to the Ongole field, it was otherwise.

THE RESPONSE AT HOME 379

Definite methods were here in operation, with the evi-
dence of years of work.

Naturally the new missionaries were under pressure
from the first to give their close attention to uniting the
people into self-sustaining churches. That was the point
where the work of our Telugu Mission was considered
weak. It was now to be strengthened, since we had
men in sufficient numbers from America to devote them-
selves to the task. I looked on at their efforts and helped
them all I could. I knew that the Western conception
of the Church was not necessarily adapted to an Eastern
community. I had tried it, and had made only a partial
success of it. But I said nothing to them about my
doubts. I wanted them to bring it to pass, if it could
be done. My only fear was that they might pay too
high a price for any success they might achieve, by
sacrificing the spiritual growth of the people to a rigid
adherence to Western customs and traditions.

The men did their best. They talked it over among
themselves and at the annual conferences ; they put their
theories to the test ; they made experiments, as they had
perfect freedom to do. But when they advocated some
new measure, they found in trying to convince the staff
of workers of its expediency that they had come upon
conservative forces that held more or less tenaciously to
that which had been handed down from the past. Our
native preachers and teachers formed a continuity of
management. At that time the older men among them,
who had helped me evolve the Ongole methods, were
still living. They gathered around the new missionaries
with the loyalty that had made me prize them as
fellow-workers. They had taught me to see with their
eyes, and had often in the course of the years made me
prune down my opinions and intentions. I knew all

380 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

along that the same process would modify the views of
my successors.

Notwithstanding the diversity among the new mis-
sionaries, and the fact that they came to their work
with preconceived ideas, they nevertheless, with few ex-
ceptions, adhered to the methods which they found in
force. They had adaptability. Their common sense
showed them that the American type of Christianity did
not fit in all cases into the conditions which they here
found. After all, given the people, and given the
peculiar circumstances of the case, we had taken the line
of least resistance. It did not therefore fall to my lot
to be forced to stand by while the work I had built
up was going to pieces. Here and there, in some isolated
case, I had to bear this. That I was spared an ex-
perience of the kind on a large scale I count as one of
the mercies of my missionary life.

I have been asked v»^hat I would do if I were once
more at the beginning of my missionary career; would
I bend all my energies to efforts of church organiza-
tion, or would I make it my chief aim to preach the
gospel of Jesus? I unhesitatingly say: I would let all
the rest go, and just preach Jesus as the Saviour of men.
I am glad I did all in my power to give educational
opportunities to the people. I would again raise up large
native agency. I would again organize groups of be-
lievers, serving God in the simple ways of their village
life. I would again do all I could for their social bet-
terment. Above all, I would preach Jesus, the Christ, to
them, and I would consider everything else subservient
to that.

I can well bear the criticism that I failed, at least par-
tially, in organizing churches on a self-sustaining basis.
It is a minor charge. The day will come when Western
people will cease to expect the people of the East to

THE RESPONSE AT HOME 381

adopt their customs and forms of thought along with
their faith in Jesus.

The invuhierable fact of the Ongole Mission is that
many thousands believed in Jesus Christ as their Saviour,
and tried to serve him. They continued in that faith
and died in it. For this I thank God.

The w^ork goes on. A good force of missionaries is
at the head. The descendants of the converts of the old
days form a large proportion of the men and women
in our Telugu churches to-day. The boys and girls who
received an education in our mission schools in the early
years form the present nucleus of the more intelligent
members of the Christian community. Our Telugu Mis-
sion stands as an instance of raising to better social
conditions the submerged tenth of that land.

XXII

THE END OF LIFE

Thirty years had passed since the call of the Far East
rang in my ears and I was sent out to the most forlorn
and desolate mission of the American Baptists. The
times had changed. The Lord Jesus had brought into
the lives of thousands a new and uplifting power and had
expanded his Kingdom.

My own work was now practically finished. I had
lived a strenuous life. I had been a part of a great and
divine movement. I had given myself to it with all my
heart and soul. Then, because it seemed necessary for
the stability of the interests which I had cherished, I
had laid upon younger shoulders much of the responsi-
bility which I had carried. This left me in a measure
free. I felt that I still had capacity for work ; I was not
yet sixty years old. How to utilize the years still before
me was not clear to me.

During the summer of 1894 I left my post at Ongole
for a few months and went to Europe. During my
sojourn there I was married to Miss Emma Rauschen-
busch, and we returned together to India in the fall
of that year. As I told her at that time, I intended to
stay only two years longer.

But old ties reasserted themselves. The associations
of my life were bound up with my old bungalow in
Ongole. I could not bring myself to leave it. It was
all the home I had. America had ceased to seem like

382

THE END OF LIFE 383

home to me. Had I gone there, I would have felt as a
stranger in the land of my birth. I had children and
grandchildren in India as well as in America. More-
over, just at this time, my ten-acre orange grove in
Florida, which was beginning to make me independent
of other income, was killed by one night's sharp frost.
Even the roots of my trees were dead. It changed my
outlook. I did not want to draw pension. I preferred
to stay at my post and work.

The native people held me. They would have pro-
tested strongly against my going. Ongole had been
the center of the movement. As long as I was in the
old place, always accessible, the people felt that two
essential elements of the days of our early strength
were intact. Ongole and Clough were names which
could not be separated in the minds of a host of people.
The contacts which I had made with men of all castes
and kinds in the course of the years were still in force.
My withdrawal would have broken them off prematurely.
I felt this, and feared the effect might be far-reaching.

Sometimes one of my old trusted men came to On-
gole and sat down with me in my study, as formerly,
and opened his heart to me. They all told me it was
well that the division of the field had been made. They
were loyal to their new missionaries. But they wanted
me to stay on at Ongole : it made a difference to them.
They said : "Though you do no work, and sit quietly in
your chair, with the punkah swinging over your head, it
helps us. We are kept settled in mind, and go about
our work as before. If the caste people ask us whether
our Clough Dhora has left us, we can tell them that he
is still in the old bungalow at Ongole."

There was the point: this movement had grown to
large proportions in a short span of years. I had no
fears. Still, I was not certain but that some day, by

384 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN" THE ORIENT

some unforeseen combination of circumstances, the
people might move away from us in masses, just as
they had come in masses. That staff of preachers of
the old days knew this as well as I; for they and I
had watched over and shepherded the multitude, and the
Lord Jesus had kept them from straying. The well-
meant words of my old fellow-workers contained a val-
uable hint as to a necessary safeguard. That is one
reason why I stayed on.

The Ongole methods were not yet fully established
as legitimate methods of missionary operations. I had
broken away from a rigid adherence to the Western
forms of Christianity. Some of the men who were at
work where Ongole methods prevailed would perhaps
have been disposed to make radical changes, which, later
on, they might have found cause to regret, if I had
not been at Ongole. Some recognized this and gave me
evidence of allegiance which I keenly appreciated. In
general I stood in the way of those who sought a closer
approach to American methods of evangelization and
organization.

Often I realized that I could be proud of our Telugu
Mission. Never was this more the case than when the
Canadian Baptist Mission north of us joined our mis-
sion in a conference at Ongole in December, 1895. ^^
took an afternoon for a service on Prayer Meeting Hill.
A long procession of missionaries and native Christians
walked together up the hill, singing hymns. As sunset
drew near, a cloud hung over the hill, covered with rosy
light. It touched us, as we stood up there, praising our
God. Below, in the Ongole bazaar, the caste people gath-
ered and watched that hilltop, pointing to it as some-
thing supernatural. They said, 'Their God is hovering
over them. Our opposition is useless. They are bound
to conquer."

THE END OF LIFE 385

A new day was coming. Young men and women,
trained in our institutions, were making themselves felt
with their fresh strength. They brought in new ideas,
new methods and a new spirit. Western thought was
pulsating in the India of to-day, and touched this
younger generation, whose parents had risen from a
bondage that was almost serfdom. The leaders of the
old days, who had borne the brunt of a social uprising
among their people, were beginning to bend under the
load of the years. Some of them saw their own sons
taking their places, educated as they had longed to see
them. The fathers had not suffered in a thankless task.
God had granted to them according to the desires of
their hearts.

Groups of the old leaders came to Ongole during 1896
to tell their stories. They stood for the history of the
movement. We could not let them die, one after another,
and take away with them the memory of experiences
which were their own, but belonged to the Christian world
also. With one of the groups of the old men, Yerra-
guntla Periah journeyed to Ongole once more. I knew
it was the last time. I loved that old man. He had
never in all the years failed me. They brought him
to the platform on Sunday morning. Heavy and almost
helpless, younger men carried him that he might sit
once more in the accustomed place of the Ongole
preachers. I stopped in my sermon and put him in my
own place. As I turned to the congregation again, I
saw a wondering look on the faces of the younger gen-
eration, students in our schools, who knew little of the
leaders of the old days. My heart was full. I wanted
them all to know the love and veneration which I felt
for this man who sat there like a child, hardly aware
that I was speaking about him. I said :

386 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

"Do you want to know who this is? I will tell you.
When you get to heaven — and I hope you will all get there
— you will see some one who looks radiant with light, far
above you. You will almost need a telescope to see him
distinctly, the distance between you and him will be so
great. And you will ask some one, *Who is that man
clothed in exceeding brightness?' Then you will be told,
'That man is Yerraguntla Periah from the Telugu country.*
And you will strain your eyes to behold him."

A year later his spirit took its flight.

During those years a railroad was constructed, pass-
ing through much of the district which was once my
field. We thus became connected with the outside world.
I had had something to do with this railroad. The in-
tention of the government had not been to make a
straight line through from Madras to Calcutta, about
one thousand miles, but to make a detour some distance
north of Ongole, using a branch line already in exist-
ence, somewhat inland, thus breaking the direct con-
nection. I addressed the Chamber of Commerce in
Madras on the subject, and my statements were then
taken up by the daily papers. When I was going or*
furlough in 1891, several prominent men in Madras re-
quested me to call on Lord Cross in London, then Sec-
retary of State for India, to call his attention to the
desirability of a direct broad gauge line between Madras
and Calcutta. I did so. I called on him at the India
Office in London. Ultimately the line was made as I
advocated. The engineers came up our way, surveying
the country with a view to laying the railway track.
With my letter to the Chamber of Commerce in their
hands, they found all my observations correct. They
had orders to give me opportunity to say where the
railway station in Ongole should be located. This was
a courtesy which I appreciated.

THE END OF LIFE 387

While the railway was under construction, a partial
famine broke out. A group of our preachers came
into Ongole one day much disheartened on account of
the scarcity. Their famihes were in want ; for the Chris-
tians had not enough to eat themselves, and could not
give anything toward the support of the preachers. I
told them I had no money to give them, that they must
pray to God, who sent the ravens to feed Elijah in time
of famine, and then trust that same God to keep them
from starving. They went away with gloomy faces and
spent a long time in prayer together on the veranda of
my office. Then they came smiling and happy, showing
me a fish. A crow had come flying past and had dropped
it among them. The supposition was that the crow had
picked it out of a basket full of them in the fish bazaar,
about five minutes' walk away. But even then it was
remarkable that so small a bird as a crow should have
carried a fish about six inches long in its beak and
dropped it right there among the group of praying
preachers. It encouraged them greatly.

The sequel of it was that in 1897 the executive engi-
neer of the railroad offered me a contract for stacking
450,000 cubic feet of broken stone ballast along the line.
I accepted, and later took a still larger contract of
similar work. This meant that I once more had charge
of a famine camp with several thousand people in it,
while I lived in a tent close by, superintending the work.
People came long distances to my camp, and the gov-
ernment inquired of me what I was doing to attract so
many to come, for relief work conducted by others was
not always popular.

There was a time when I had an industrial project
much in mind. It was a question in these latter days,
as never before, how to help our Christians to help them-
selves. The tendency among the most intelligent of

388 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

them was to fall into line as preachers and teachers
in the mission. They thus remained under the super-
vision of the mission. It was a one-sided development.
I had in mind to establish a tannery. Our Christians
were doing their leather work in the same crude fashion
which had been handed down to them from their an-
cestors. I wanted them to have a chance to learn modern
methods, so that their work might command a sale
beyond the borders of their own village. But nothing
came of this plan.

The baptisms on my field continued about the same.
When the last division of the field was made, about
14,000 members left the Ongole church. We kept about
8,000, and the size of the field that remained in my
charge was about like an ordinary county in the state
of Iowa. Most of my best workers had gone with their
respective fields, but I had a good staff of preachers,
teachers and Bible women left. The baptisms were on
an average 500 each year. This represented steady
growth. I saw no occasion to change my methods. I
enlarged on them by letting the Christian community
govern itself on the lines of their village customs. I
made much of the panchayat system — the old village
council. At every quarterly meeting I let the people
elect the men who were to sit in council and take up
their requests one by one. The judgment passed by
them was generally ratified by me. It worked well and
was a step in the direction of self-government. Thus
I worked in the old grooves.

Then an accident befell me. The Podili station was
under my supervision for a time and I had gone there
to hold a quarterly meeting. After a hard day's work,
I mounted my pony to go out into the open country,
away from the people, for rest in the cool of the twi-
light. I had heard that a wolf had been straying about

THE END OF LIFE 389

at dusk. This wolf now suddenly stood by the road-
side. My pony started in terror; the saddle turned to
the side ; I was thrown. No one had seen me fall. I got
up and walked to the mission bungalow. Fortunately,
I had not far to go. My collar bone and two ribs were
broken. I gave myself only a few days for recovery
and went to work again. A stiffness remained which
rendered me liable to a second accident.

This came a year later. Many baptisms had been
taking place on my field. People from several villages
south of Ongole had sent requests to me to come. I sent
my camp there and expected to hold meetings and then
baptize several hundred of those who were waiting. I
arrived at the camp very worn and tired with the work
that had to be done before leaving Ongole and exposure
to the sun on the way. The cot in my tent was one
of the tall, folding camp cots, that stand four feet from
the ground, in order to place the sleeper above the reach
of straying half-wild dogs, snakes and creeping things.
I woke up in the middle of the night, and in trying to
get off the cot, I stepped on a chair by the side of it.
The chair slipped, and I fell heavily upon the hard
ground. My right hip was broken.

What followed I hardly know. As soon as I con-
sented, my servants and the preachers who were with
me put me on my spring wagon and took me the twenty
miles to Ongole. There now I began a fight for life.
I had had eight years in Ongole with no let-up since my
last furlough, and was in a worn-out condition. Very
likely mine was not an easy case to handle, for I was
not accustomed to obey. I refused to lie still. I in-
sisted that I must get up and go to work. I held out
against the doctor's order to go to America for recovery.
But days of pain and nights of delirium taught me to
submit.

390 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

The accident happened early in February, 1901. In
April Mrs. Clough and I started on our journey to
America. On my cot they carried me to the railway
station in Ongole. Word had been sent to the native
people not to come : if they loved me to stay away. Sev-
eral thousand came nevertheless. They promised to be
silent if I would say salaam to them. I was carried out on
the veranda and said good-bye. Later, when on my cot
I was carried to the railway station, many of them took
their sandals into their hands and silently followed
through the still starlit night. I was now going forth on
the last ten years of my life — ten hard, crippled years.

The friends who had gathered around us, helping us
in every possible way, had to be left behind. My
faithful Indian servants, too, could not go further than
Colombo. We secured the services of a young English-
man as attendant, and proceeded on our journey half-
way around the world. As the hot season was now on
us, the steamers by way of the Atlantic were crowded;
we had to go by way of China and the Pacific Ocean.
Upon three steamers and five launches I had to be car-
ried, and always there were the willing hands of sailors
to lift me, with ships' officers standing by to superintend.
In Hong Kong six Chinamen, amid discussion of the
unusual nature of their task, took up my stretcher and
carried me to the hotel, where we had to wait five days
for our next steamer. We landed in Vancouver, though
the ship's doctor wondered whether he was going to get
me across the Pacific alive. Then I found the sturdy
Canadians said, *What is the matter with that old gen-
tleman? Let us help him," and I often had ten men
ready in a moment to lift me on or ofif a train. On our
long journey across the American continent a prominent
Baptist professor with some students came to the train.
He said, "Well, Dr. Clough, you never did anything

THE END OF LIFE 39 1

for anybody, but we must lift you on this train never-
theless." It was a revelation to me to see that I was
never beyond the circle of human helpfulness.

In the heart of the Canadian Rocky Mountains there
is a beautiful place, Banflf, \vith a good sanitarium. It
was on our way. We stopped to break the journey, and
then stayed four months. Here I did some deep down
resting. I took comfort in watching the huge, snow-
capped mountains from my window. There was no
humbug about them. When I tried to talk of my recent
experiences — plucked out of intense activity and reduced
to helplessness — I was choked with tears. Why had
this come upon me? It was while I was trying to do
my duty. But Jesus makes no mistakes. I submitted
in patience.

My old friend and pastor, Dr. G. J. Johnson, who
baptized me forty-three years before, now came to
see me. After many years of faithful friendship, linger-
ing not far from the other side, he felt that he must
see his "son in the faith" before he passed away. He
came from St. Louis, traveling three days and nights, his
daughter accompanying him, and they stayed with us
a month. The genial surgeon of the sanitarium re-
marked that I w^as more "subdued and submissive" since
Dr. Johnson had come, and I admitted that I felt like a
boy alongside of the doctor. It did me good to feel that
way. We talked much of old times, and told each
other old-time stories.

We stayed in America eighteen months. I visited
my children, and saw relatives and old friends again. I
attended the Anniversaries, but I saw that my days of
public work were over. With some help I could walk
a little, but I remained helpless to a large degree. Our
secretaries and the Executive Committee were very con-
siderate and generous to me, and when I now asked to

392 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

be sent back to my old place in India, they told me I
should be cared for, whether I did any more work or
not, whether I remained in America or went back to
Ongole. My heart was in India ; I wanted my old work
again. We sailed in October, 1902.

On arrival in Ongole I was met by the same great
crowd of people that always met me after a furlough.
They were glad I was back in the old bungalow. For two
and a half years I held out, in the old grooves, carried
along by the impetus of the past. It was hard work.
I could not keep it up. My strength was failing. We
had to seek a cooler climate in one of the hill stations not
far away. Sickness nigh unto death showed me that
even a portion of my former work was henceforth out
of the question. I retired from active service in 1905.

Life away from Ongole was hard to bear. I longed
for the accustomed surroundings. But I had to wait;
for at just about the time when I was beginning to break
down, it looked as though my old bungalow also would
fall into ruin. The old house and I had seen great
days together, and now it looked as if we were tumbling
down together. It was rebuilt, and then we went to live
in it again. I soon found that my being there could
not bring back the past. In my thoughts I had been
living in the old days, when my compound was the center
of activities reaching over portions of several districts,
and thousands of Telugu people were glad when they
knew I was at my post. But these days were gone.
Even before the hot season was on us, I was ready and
glad to go to Coonoor on the Nilgiri Hills, where it
would be cool and quiet.

Then the question came up about the story of my
life, for which Mrs. Clough and I had been collecting
the material. If this was to be written while I was
still there to help, it could not be put off much longer.

THE END OF LIFE

393

I had often been asked to write this story, but while I
was stil' in the work I was too busy. After my retire-
ment it was too late — I could not write any more. We
all looked to Mrs. Clough to do it. She wrote several
chapters and then she came to me and told me the
difficulties were too great, that I must release her from
the task. This I could not do. I wanted her to write
the book. Finally she said, "There is only one way
in which it can be written : you must tell your story
yourself. In that case I am willing to do the work
for you." I hesitated; for I feared that in such joint
authorship I might no longer be equal to my part. But
I saw that she believed it could be done. I asked her
to go ahead and I would do all in my power to help her.^

I soon saw that this worked well. It often encouraged
me to find that where it was a question of the deeper mo-
tives of my work, I could answer for myself better than
I could have done when still in my prime. That strange
thread of happenings that ran through my life with an
overruling destiny, seemed clearer than ever before. Dur-
ing my years of retirement I had not been idle : I had
kept up a steady thinking, and my life had become far re-
moved from me. I saw my failures, and saw the places
where my expectations did not come to pass. As we
talked it all over, I realized that we were setting forth as-
pects of this story which had never been brought out be-
fore. I saw that it was going to be just such a book as I
had had in mind.

It was a strange experience to me thus to come face
to face with my past. I had never before realized to
how great a degree I was led in ways which were not
of my choosing. In the earlier portions of the story I
sometimes felt almost as if a sort of violence had been
done me : my own schemes were always thwarted, I was
always going where I did not want to go. At times

394 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

I felt dazed, and had to readjust myself, and tell myself
that Jesus makes no mistakes. But, as I thought of
the Telugu Mission, as I was leaving it, with its lOO
missionaries, 60,000 members and 200,000 adherents,
and all its schools — it is the very mission which I wanted
when I first went to India. God had fulfilled my hopes.

When this book was so far finished that I saw the
rest could be done without me, I realized that the next
step for me to take was to leave India. Mrs. Clough
had been under doctor's orders for the past two years
to go home to America, but she had steadily refused
to go and leave me behind; nor had I any wish to be
left behind. I could not allow her to run further risk. I
said : **I am going. Engage passage as soon as possible."

This meant that I could not die in India, and I could
not have my grave in Ongole. I had the place selected
in our cemetery there. But I had of late been told re-
peatedly that almost any other place, even the ocean,
would be a better place for my grave. I would not
believe this. They said the native Christians, and others
also, over all that seven thousand square miles which was
my tramping ground in the old days, were not even
waiting till I was dead; they had already begun to use
my name in the various rites and incantations which are
so prevalent in India. It was said that when they were
digging a well, and did not strike water, the village
elders boiled rice near the well, each took a handful, and
holding it over the well, thinking of me, they together
spoke my name, dropped the rice, and it was said "the
water came immediately." Thus they had already begun
to do when plowing their fields, when tending their
cattle, and in more ways than was known. I can only
say, I am sorry they are doing that way. I always
taught them not to do such things and they are thus
setting aside my teaching. I know my hands were open

THE END OF LIFE 395

to help them. They seem to be trying thus to make
me help them still.

But I had held to it, that no one would interfere with
my grave. Then they told me that an old missionary
south of us, who had really loved the people as I had
done, died and was buried among them. His grave was
kept covered with marks of worship, and signs that
prayers for help had been offered. His friends built a
high wall around it, and then the worship was conducted
outside the wall. They told me also of a missionary
north of us, whose remains had to be removed to some
silent, peaceful spot, of which only a few knew. Think-
ing this over in all its bearings, I had already begun to
keep still about that grave in Ongole. H it stood for
something in my life, which, like many another intention
and expectation of mine, belonged to that which "was
not to be," then the sooner I let it go the better.

Very reluctantly I set my face toward sailing for
America. My work in India is done. Soon I shall meet
my Master, Jesus, face to face, to whom I led so many
thousands of the poor and ignorant and despised. When
that time comes, may it be my joy to find in the light of
his countenance the assurance that the purpose is fulfilled
for which I was brought into life.

We undertook that voyage with the greatest hesitation.
Neither my husband nor I wanted to go, yet the doors
opened before us, and there was nothing to do but walk
through them. Loving interest was shown us in leaving
India, and help in abundance was awaiting us when we
landed in Boston. We settled in Rochester, New York,
which is only forty miles away from the place of his
birth.

The months passed. He seemed at least to hold his

396 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY IN THE ORIENT

own, and spoke sometimes of returning to India. But
a change came. He realized that the end was near. At
twilight one evening, he said, ''I am thinking of the will
of God." He saw that he was understood. Long ago
he said that when he came to die there would be no good-
bye and no farewell message : ''I am going to die and
say nothing about it." He carried this out.

A friend of former years came and offered Christian
consolation. He appreciated the sympathy that breathed
through the prayer, but the friend said afterwards, ''Like
some great oriental he meant to go and meet his God in
his own way. He wanted the prayer of no man."

Early the last morning of his conscious life he spoke
in a few brief sentences of the past, intimating that he
had scanned his life, and pronounced judgment on him-
self. He wanted no reply : he only wanted to be under-
stood.

His spirit held him to the last in the calm faith and
childlike trust that always marked him. He died un-
afraid. Very weary he was, but his eyes were calm and
fearless till they closed, as if to go to sleep, and he
sank into long unconsciousness. In an atmosphere of
great peace, a serene look coming over his face, he
breathed his life away, still unconscious, when the sun
was rising on the morning of Thanksgiving Day, Novem-
ber 24, 19 10.

Since the grave in Ongole was not to be, it was his
wish to be buried in Newton Center, a suburb of Boston.
In its beautiful cemetery the society which he served had
bought ground to bury its dead. Here now he was
gathered unto his fathers in a spiritual sense. In this
cemetery, long before. Dr. Warren was laid to rest, — his
chief, the man of whom he used to say that a father
could not have been more to his own son than he was
to him. Here was Dr. Jewett's resting-place, with whom

THE END OF LIFE 397

he was sent forty-six years before *'to give him Christian
burial in a heathen land." The order was reversed. He
had now come to receive Christian burial close to Dr.
Jewett. And here, only a narrow path between them,
was the grave of Dr. S. F. Smith, whose song, "Shine
on, Lone Star," had contained a prophecy, which the
body now laid to rest had worked strenuously to fulfill.
Both in Rochester and in Newton Center there were
services in which men participated who were bound to
him by ties of fellowship in work. A cable message
took the tidings to India. Once more religious and
secular papers rehearsed the story of the work with which
his life was knit together. There is peace where his body
lies, peace unbroken by incantations aiming at material
benefits. There is joy where his spirit went, and the
continuation of this story may now be proceeding in the
language of the heaven world. Inscribed over his grave
is his favorite verse :

**Be still and know that I am God."

GLOSSARY

Brahmans, The — The aristocracy of learning in India, of Indo-

Aryan descent.

Dhora — A white man ; equivalent for Mister.

Guru — A religious teacher.

JuTTu — The sacred top-knot of hair on a man's head.

Karnam — The village accountant, generally a Brahman.

Madigas, The — The leather workers of the Telugu country, of
tribal origin, forming more than one-half of the Pariah popu-
lation.

Mantra — A prayer, holy verse, or mystic word.

MuNSiFF — The headman of the ancient Dravidian village organiza-
tion.

Panchama — Fifth caste — the recently created caste name of the
Pariahs.

Panchayat — The council of five village elders.

Pariahs, The — The submerged portion of the Hindu community,
outside the caste system, held in menial service.

Rupee — A silver coin worth about thirty cents.

Salaam — Peace — an oriental gesture of salutation.

Sudras, The — Landowners and artisans, of Dravidian race, forming
the bulk of South Indian population.

Tahsildar — A subjudgc for criminal cases.

Taluk — A county, about 30 miles square.

Telugus, The — A South Indian people, about 20,000,000 in number,
living in the northern part of the Madras Presidency.

Yetti — A Madiga who carries loads for the village.

Yoga — The experimental union of the individual with the divine.
There are four paths of Yoga, of which Raja Yoga is one. It
is the psychological way to union through the practice of con-
centration.

Ycxii, THE—One who practices Yoga.

399

SUBJECT INDEX

An Eastern People
The Brahmans

— The Aryan origin of, 127, 168, 198

—upholding the caste system, 83, 120, 124-5, 128, 321-2

— showing exclusiveness in education, 119-20, 122, 331, 375

—when intolerant in religion, 84, 152, 157, 168, 171, 198

— Attitude of, toward the outcaste population, 84, 112, 126,

152, 157, 168, 174, 321-2
— Power of, in opposing Christianity, 84, no, 122, 152, 157,

170, 173, 186, 198, 212, 321

The Sudras

— The Dravidian origin of, 127, 162, 168, 174, 191
— as the farmers of the community, 127, 162, 238, 258
—as the employers of the Madigas, 127, 161, 166, 168, 178,

323, 345, .352
— and the Christianization of the Madigas, 163, 168, 174,

178, 321
— themselves holding aloof from Christianity, 165, 267, 321,

354
The Madigas

— The tribal origin and characteristics of, 84, 127, 191, 225,

282
—The poverty of, 114, 139, 164-5, 238, 264, 352-4
— performing menial service, 128, 164
— degraded by carrion eating, 126, 163-6, 283, 318
— as outcastes in the community, 84, 87, 113, 117, 126, 128,

164, 241, 321
— oppressed by the village cooperative system, 161, 163,

168, 171
— fearing and appeasing their village gods, 93, 139, 148, 167,

248, 265, 319
— responding to the Christian appeal, 103, 128, 137, 144, 147,

161, 290, 299
— seeking social betterment by education, 117, 191, 322,

. 352-3, 2>7^
— uniting in a social revolution, 154, 156, 159, 161, 168, 176,

^H 322
— The primitive self-administration of. Christianized, 191-3,

195, 241, 247, 26Z, 275, 343-5
— forming a Christian community, 102, 156, 184, 290, 316,

335, 343, 371, 394

401

402 SUBJECT INDEX

A Western People

American Activities

— in forming contacts with Asiatics, 72, m. 187, 201-8, 365,

373
— in giving money for Christianization, 117, 217, 350, 353,

375
— in applying democratic principles, iii, 118, 132, 159, 169,

176, 214, 269, 321
— in adapting Western forms of Christianity to the East,

186-8, 194-5, 213-4, 329, 332, 341, 380
— in modifying methods of evangelization, 77, 79, 188, 193,

195, 329, 345, 380, 384
— in adjusting Western ideas to the East, iii, 159-2, 177,

185, 202, 239, 322, 332, 343
— and national traits affecting missions, 296, 372
— and Americans compared with Asiatics, 73, 126, 165, 169,

198

British Rule

— Democratic spirit of, 157, 169, 177, 241, 249

— Liberal educational policy in, 118, 123

— Religious toleration under, 84, 119, 168, 174, 323-4

— Legal equality granted by, 108, 169, 171

— Social amelioration of the outcaste in, 108, 128, 169

— a disintegrating force in the Indian village, 112, 160

The Missionary Enterprise

The Denomination

— recognizing its obligation, 200, 222, 225, 368, 375
— receiving the converts into fellowship, 213-5, 273, 308
— sustaining a mass movement, 134, 271, 295, 301-2
—guarding its tenets, 214, 297, 299, 306-8, 335, 341, 379
— roused to action, 298, 304, 369-70, 372-6

The Home Churches

— and the non-Christian world, 73, 293, 308, 366

— Contacts with missions formed by, 219, 294, 298, 347, 350,

365
— Pastors of, and their missionary policy, 219-20, 292, 294,

368-9
■ — Business men in, and their capacity applied, 301-2, 366
— Responsibility for reenforcement carried by, 200, 223, 295,

298, 368
— Definite response from, 217-9, 298

SUBJECT INDEX 4O3

The Missionary Society

— oflficers of, as trustees of the denomination, 214, 292, 297-8
—in cooperation with the home churches, 200, 216, 294, 298,

372
— and its policy of self-support on the foreign field, 350,

353-5
— and the problem of education, 116, 122, 330-1, 376
—Attitude of, toward church organization, 214, 341, 379-81,

384
— and sending out missionaries, 201, 218, 295, 348, 374
—and occupying new ground, 64, 89, 225-31, 234-6, 378
— and adjustment to oriental conditions, 297, 354, 366
— upholding events on the foreign field, 214, 291, 296-9
—meeting demands for a larger policy, 116, 366, 369-70, 375
— in relation with other societies, 62, 86, 97, 235-6, 305-6,

327, 350, 356, 366-7, 374
Missionary Policy

— toward class distinction, 84, 113, 122, 132, 169, 199, 321-2,

331, 375
— in educating orientals, 116, 122, 330-1, 375-6
— in occupying strategic centers, 61, 88-9, 225-6, 229-30,

234-6, 327, 378
— ^toward native agency, 121, 187, 190, 332
— toward mass movements, 214-5, 263, 267, 297, 305-8
—in forming methods, 106, 188, 193, 202, 328, 331, 346, 354-6
— in following the policy of the State, 87, 349
— in requiring statesmanship from leading men, 236, 292, 376
— in relationships between religious organizations, 62, 86,

97, 235-6, 273-4, 301, 305-8, 366-7
— calling forth definite acts of faith in God, loi, 115, 132,
213, 230, 272, 281, 286, 307, 328

The Student Volunteer Movement

— The beginning of, 367

— an interdenominational recruiting agency, 367

— backed by enthusiasm in the churches, 368

— found ready to meet definite demands, 218, 373
Bible Passages

— in tract form, 77-8, 88, 267

— voicing command, 133-5

— in missionary experience, 45, 206, 208, 248, 279, 310

A Belief in the Doctrine of Election

— in individual experience, 58, 129, 176
— as a basis for the missionary enterprise, 81, 86, 132, 206,
321

404 SUBJECT INDEX

The Principle of the Brotherhood of Man
— applied in times of famine, 239, 249

— when facing the degradation of the outcaste, 126, 241, 249
— Eastern and Western ideas of, compared, 239, 249, 262
— Interracial application of, 254, 256, 299

Prophetic Vision

— when the "Lone Star" poem was written, 65, 300

— An audience swayed by, 66, 300, 368, 372

— A mission saved through, 63, 66, 222, 300, 372

— on "Prayer Meeting Hill," 70, 85, 90, 129, 300, 309, 384

— in expecting a multitude, 81, 82, 103, 107, 135, 137, 230, 235,

271-2, 290
— in staking boundary lines, 61, 67, 89, 230
—concerning the call of men to service, 69, 103-4
— in applying New Testament methods, 80, 214, 308, 341
— in working for the redemption of a community, 128, 135,

209, 290, 331, 385

The Hindu Religion

The Polytheism of Village Worship

— a mixture of Aryan and non-Aryan cults, 93, 150, 168
— Demonology given a large part in, 151, 155, 167, 205, 225,

248, 265
— Mother-worship prominent in, 93, 148, 150, 170, 322
— largely actuated by fear, intended to appease, 155, 167,

205, 248, 265
— forming part of the cooperative system, 152, 167-8
— The Madiga part in, a duty to the community, 151-2, 160,

167, 170, 265
— Consequences of disengaging from, 151-4, 161, 170-2, 266,

323
— The idols as emblems of, given up, yy, 168, 182, 266, 288,

319

The Teachers of Raja Yoga

— as part of a hierarchy with power of initiation, 93-4, lOO
— of pure type seldom available to the outcaste, 95, 104
— giving out truths similar to Christian teaching, 93-5, 140-2,

145, 160
— forming a transition to the Christian preacher, 94, 100,

106, 142-3, 188, 194, 197, 360

Hindu Religious Reform Movements
— The nature of, 93-4, 140
— gathering around the personality of a Yogi, 94, 140-2, 224

SUBJECT INDEX 4O5

Hindu Religious Reform Movements — Continued

— based on training in Yoga, 94, 141

— guarding the inner teaching by initiations, 94, 140-1, 197

— of social significance by opposing caste and idolatry, 94,

140- 1
— training the men who became Christian leaders, 94, 100,

106, 145, 188, 194, 197, 285, 360
— preparing the way for the Christian movement, 101, 141-2,

146, 224

The Christian Religion
Conversion

— The nature of, 137, 139, 275, 283

— Outward evidence of, 87, 138-9, 282-3, 310

— and Christian teaching, 88, 146, 154, 157, 283, 350

— Definite instances of, 76, 83, 87, 98, 142-3, 178-82

— when there is a mass movement, 147, 158, 215, 224, 249,

264, 276, 283, 299, 306
— as cause of contest in the family, 83, 97, 129, 147-9, 177-8,

181-3
— and persecution in the village, 77, 108, 152-4, 170, 323
— calling for readjustment in communal life, 156, 159, 160,

177, 319
— as an abiding faith in Jesus Christ, 35, 283, 317, 381

Baptism

—regarded as defilement by the Hindus, 83, 130, 323

— preceded by conversion and Christian teaching, 102, 157,

276, 283
— The people begging for, 158, 263, 268, 279, 287, 319
— Motive in asking for, 264, 267, 278, 290, 363
— Reason for not granting, 263, 267, 283
— of hundreds, 136, 158, 214, 284, 289, 359, 362
— of thousands, 267, 276, 286, 289, 296, 301, 319, 363

Oriental Churches

— when of natural growth, 189, 332

— beginning as Christian centers, 99, loi, 114, 185, 191, 233,

332
— built upon village organization, 189-90, 319, 341, 355, 379
— utilizing the office of elders and panchayat, 191-3, 319,

343-6, 388
churches in the New Testament sense, loi, 195, 206,

214, 335, 341, 380

406 SUBJECT INDEX

The Christian Preacher

— adapting his methods to communal life, 144-5, 147. 189

— retaining traits of the Hindu Guru, 100, 105-6, 188, 194

— Christian training required by, 115, 186-7, 200

— Ordination of, to the ministry, 194, 332-4

— Relation of, to the missionary, 92, 98, 187-8, 207, 210-3,

223, 279, 285, 339, 361, 379, 383
— as spokesman of the people, 92, 241, 276, 280, 287, 345
— affected by village organization, 195, 281, 345
— helping to evolve missionary methods, 92, 106, 280, 379
— learning Western church organization, 186, 193-5, 334, 341
— obtaining support from the members, 106, 238, 261, 335,

355
— and his attitude toward baptism, 99, 212, 268, 276, 280, 284,

287, 362
— as part of a continuity of management, 90, 195-7, 224, 247,

322, 360, 379, 385

The Contact Between Two Religions

Missionary Methods

— the spiritual motive for, 80, 209

— compared, 74, 78, 80, 203, 326

— in efforts at temple festivals, 78

— in bazaar preaching, 75, yy, no, 198

— in direct village evangelization, 102, 108, 224, 316-20, 343-6

— in training and sustaining native agency, 113, 185-8, 196,

227, 332-4
— in educating Christians and non-Christians, 117, 122, 330-1,

375-6
—in church organization, loi, 193-5, 213, 233, 332-5, 341, 346,

379-81
— in mass movements, 136, 160, 185, 215, 224, 282-3, 286, 305-8
— in seeking financial solution by self-support, 106, 108, 238,

261, 352-7
— in mingling the spiritual and temporal, 248, 269, 301, 317,

340, 345, 351-3 ^ ^
— in recognizing the institutions of village life, 189, 192, 204,

225, 275, 282, 316, 343-6, 355
— dictated by circumstances, loi, 132, 144, 230, 246, 268, 287,

307, 328, 346, 356, 380
— adapted to oriental conditions, 146, 187-8, 192, 195, 201-6,

275, 282, 308, 316, 343-6, 355, 380
—when West and East clash, 120, 155, 160, 172, 198, 322
— when denominational tenets break down, 193, 206-7, 273,

297, 306-8, 329, 335, 341. 346, 380

SUBJECT INDEX 407

Opposition to Christianity

—because the vengeance of the village gods is feared, 107,
149, 170

—because it affects the solidarity of the family, 97, 129, 166
177-8. 183

—because its principles break down tlie village system, 160,
169

—because the village officials are forced to make adjust-
ments, 152, 168, 320

— by threats, false rumors and arguments, 129, 178, 198

— by stoning, beating and imprisonment, no, 152-4, 179, 198

—by boycotting through the cooperative system, 162, 171,
173, 322-5

— by coercive attempts to uphold the old worship, 84, 108,
152, 170, 323

— found to be of remarkable tenacity, in, 198, 267, 321

A Christian Mass Movement

— The principles of, 80, 160, 215, 290

— agoing on lines of family cohesion, 145, 189, 224, 247, 282,

290, 319
—aided by tribal spirit, 99, 123, 136, 145, 224, 282, 290, 306,

320-1
— affected by village organization, 168, 189, 191-3, 204, 263,

275, 282, 319, 343-6
— given the character of a social uprising, 160, 168, 192, 225,

299, 318
— absorbing strength from preceding Hindu movements, 94,

96, loi, 141-2, 145, 197, 224
— Distinct religious experience evident in, 93, 104, 142-3,

^ 225, 249, 264
— going beyond lines of denominational policy, 214-5, 297,

305-8, 329, 342, 346
— due to New Testament methods, 80, 134, 215, 308, 335, 380
— not essentially affected by Western organization, 185,

193-5, 336, 341, 346, 355, 379-81
— depending on a continuity of leadership, 96, 186, 195-7,

247, 285, 327, 332, 360, 379, 383, 385
— growing through faith in the spiritual presence of Jesus,

107, I37> 156, 163, 186, 208, 215, 248, 274, 286, 290

Thi Result
Education

—in village schools, 114, 191, 276, 318, 330

— in station schools, 118, 330

— in high schools and colleges, 121, 330-i» 375"^

408 SUBJECT INDEX

Education — Continued

— Problem of, for non-Christians, 122, 330-1, 375-6

— in training native agency, 114, 186-9, 194-5, 207, 227, 360

— in relation to self-support, 350-4

— Social betterment effected by, 117, 191, 302, 318, 352-3,

375-6
— demanded by the converts, 191, 297, 318, 353, 361
— Attitude of the Home Base toward, 116, 214, 217, 219, 296,

33h 353, 375-6
The Status of the Women

— when standing with the men in the new life, 107, 114, 156,

181, 191, 227
— when opposed to Christianity, 166, 177-8, 183
— giving up their sons to become preachers, 104, 114, 179
— seeking an education with the men, 114, 191
— keeping step with social betterment, 166, 191
— giving their services to the mission, 107-8, 179, 190-1, 225
— suffering persecution for Jesus' sake, 179

Church Organization

— an unsolved problem, 193, 341, 346, 379-81

— as viewed by the home churches, 213, 379

— made secondary in missionary efforts, 213, 346, 380

— whether adapted to Eastern communities, 186-7, i93-5>

335, 344-6, 379
— Attempts at, partially successful, 193, 335, 341, 346, 380
— and self-support on communal lines, 106, 238, 261, 336, 355
— Definite instances of, 102, 193, 233, 332, 334-5

Social Betterment

— a legitimate aim in missionary endeavor, 128, 262, 301, 350,

353-4, 375, 380
— through education received in the Mission, 117, 191, 297,

302, 318, 352-4, 361, 376
— by withdrawal from low forms of worship, 150, 168, 171,

319
— by demanding a new basis for cooperative labor, 152,

161-3, 166-8
— by a united stand against village oppression, 154, 164, 172,

325
— by obtaining proof of equality in legal status, 108, 171
— by raising the social status, 117, 128, 166, 191, 249, 318
— by relief when sick, starving or oppressed, 243, 249, 350
— by Christianizing the communal life, 79, 99, 186, 190, 204-5,

299, 317
— by finding in devotion to Jesus a new motive, 156, 249,

262, 284, 317, 353-4, 357

SUBJECT INDEX 409

New Testament Times Repeated

— by sending forth men to convert the Gentiles, 222

— by letting the "common people" come, 113, 134, 166, 169,

199, 290
— ^by establishing Christian centers, loi, 189, 22)2,, 335, 341,

346, 380
— by receiving definite command, 133-5
— by conflict between the old order and the new, 144, 154,

169, 299, 322
— by suflFering for Jesus' sake, 108, 144, 152-4, 156-7, 172,

179, 184, 265-6, 325
— by Pentecostal baptism, 82, 102, 280, 284-6, 301, 363

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Jesus

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